


Where the Stars Align

by The_Amarathine_Carrion



Series: Suddenly I saw the heavens unfastened [1]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: A+ Parenting, Alpha Claude, Alpha Dimitri, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Arranged Marriage, Bottom Sylvain is too rare a gift in this fandom and I’m going to change that, Explicit content in the later chapters, In that Felix always has to take things in stages and be stubborn, It’s brief but it’s there, Language, M/M, Masturbation, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Nesting, Omega Sylvain, Omega Verse, Omegas have intersex anatomy in this one just a heads up, Pining, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Violence and angst are a given when it comes to Felix and Dimitri, alpha felix, and that Dimitri needs to come to the terms that he deserves to be loved, because Felix, enough said, no beta we die like Glenn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:34:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 60,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22037143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Amarathine_Carrion/pseuds/The_Amarathine_Carrion
Summary: ”His eyes pierce through Felix, a hungry curiosity settled there. ’What would you do, Felix? If you could?’Sylvain’s words have a rare weight to his tone. He assumes Sylvain is thinking about his crest, something out of his control that has always bothered him, that had somehow earned him the years of abuse at his brother’s hand. Yet, there is an additional layer to his pain that Felix has never seen. It causes Felix to fall into a reflection of his own.’I’d be free...if I’d been born with no soulmate at all. That’s what I’d change.’”
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd & Felix Hugo Fraldarius, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Claude von Riegan, Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier, Sylvain Jose Gautier & Claude von Riegan
Series: Suddenly I saw the heavens unfastened [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1663333
Comments: 148
Kudos: 475
Collections: Sylvix Squad Super Stories





	1. Chapter 1

“Sylvaaaaaain!!” 

Felix’s shrill voice rings out over the harsh winter winds whipping around the Gautier estate, pleading as he chases after a snickering flash of red. _Not fair, not fair, not fair!_ Sylvain’s legs are longer than his, he’s the tallest out of all of them, and Ingrid and Dimitri aren’t even here to make him slow down. His best friend is so far ahead of him, he’ll never catch up on his own! 

“What’s wrong, Felix?” Sylvain teases him, twirling the toy sword he’d snatched from his hand a few minutes prior. “Guess you want me to keep this, huh? Since you’re giving up already..” 

“Noooo! Give it back! Glenn gave it to me!” He starts sniffling as Sylvain continues their game of chase, snot and tears flying behind him as they tear past the stables. The horses whinny nervously when their unsteady feet kick up the stray oats and hay. 

“Uh-Uh!” Sylvain shakes a finger at him, still running, as he twists his head to stick his tongue out at Felix. “That’s not how the game works.” He laughs at Felix’s red face and windswept hair, falling out of his tiny ponytail to cling to the parts of his face that are wet and sticky from his spit.

Felix’s legs tremble, threatening to buckle underneath him, but he balls his little fingers into fists and determines on even when Sylvain leads them further away from the estate and onto the uneven field. Sylvain always gave him back what he stole in the end, even if he didn’t catch him, and Felix hardly ever did. This time though, he was afraid that he might not, because the sword Glenn gave him was really cool! Sylvain must want to keep it!

“Please..! Sylvain!”

He pants and coughs, slowing to a stop to clutch at his chest. The air here is so much colder than when he visits Dimitri in Fhirdiad. Even his own lands don’t hurt his lungs this way. He finally falls to his knees, scraping them a bit in the process and really begins to bawl. Sylvain turns when he realizes Felix isn’t following him anymore and jogs back to console him. 

“Hey, c’mon now, Fe. It’s not that bad, look I wasn’t really gonna take it.” He pats Felix’s head as Felix grabs the sword and holds it close to his chest, bottom lip stuck out in defiance.

“You’re mean! You know I can’t run that fast.”

Sylvain laughs and ruffles his hair, which has by now all but completely rendered his ponytail useless with how much has fallen out. “Why do you think I do this? You’ve gotta improve your speed so you can keep up with us when we’re older, since you don’t like the horses.” 

Felix shakes his head. He really doesn’t like them, and had thrown enough fits by then to get his father to give up on it. He was going to be a swordsman. There weren’t too many of them in Faerghus, everybody he knew favored mounts and spears. 

“Don’t take it again. Glenn gave it to me so I can train. I only want to use swords.” 

Sylvain’s smile softens. “Alright, alright. I’m sorry. Let’s get you cleaned up now.” He helps Felix off the ground, dusting him off lightly, and Felix suddenly remembers he’s supposed to be in pain. 

“My knees hurt...” Felix’s voice wobbles and his lip trembles as more tears begin to form. Sylvain rolls his eyes at the dramatics, but retains his good natured smile.

“It’s only a little scratch, barely enough to draw blood.” He straightens, placing a hand on Felix’s shoulder. “A swordsman will have much more serious injuries than this.” 

Felix knows he is right, but still wants Sylvain’s attention, so he continues to pretend like the pain is worse than it is. “Okay...will you carry me on your back still? Just ‘till we get inside?” 

Sylvain nods, bending down without a fuss to allow Felix to clamber onto his back. “You know I always will.” 

They spend the walk back to the estate in higher spirits, Sylvain bragging about how much his endurance has improved from his riding lessons and Felix bonking him on the head with his sword whenever he teased him about being too small or slow.

It is the Imperial year 1170 and Felix is seven years old. It will be eleven years still until he is expected to present as an Omega and marry crown prince Dimitri. It will be eight years before when he pledges never to do that very thing.

Felix was born on the 20th day of the Pegasus Moon during the deadliest snowstorm the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus had experienced in decades. His mother labored for days in the inescapable chill. He entered the world shivering and angry and with the crest of Bladdiyd unmistakably imprinted on the inside of his tiny wrist.

At the very moment Felix made his first earth shattering cry, miles and miles away, Dimitri screamed as the crest of Fraldarius emerged on the opposite wrist, as if it were suddenly burned into his skin.

On the continent of Fodlan, the nobility and common folk alike ascribe to the status of one’s dynamic as well as their social caste. Depending on where you ask in the three separate nations, however, the significance of soulmates varies. In the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus, it is a triangle of equanimity: soulmates are taken as seriously as dynamics and crests.

All three of them are gifted by the Goddess. For one to possess all three aspects of the holy trilogy is exceedingly rare. 

Felix and Dimitri are of those blessed few. A soulmate mark is not revealed to any who are born without crests, and those who are bound to one another under the same timeline are surely fated to present as an Alpha and Omega.

So it has been said and so it was told to Felix, over and over and over again, before he even spoke his very first word.

Felix doesn’t want to get married. He doesn’t want to sit in a castle and have children and wait for his hair to turn gray. He wants to run through the forest, digging his bare toes in the lichen. He wants to swing his sword at the fireflies that gather in the fields of Fraldarius at sunset. Most of all, he wants to stay forever by the side of his friends: Dimitri, Ingrid, and especially Sylvain. 

Sylvain’s tongue pokes at his upper lip as he concentrates on bandaging all of Felix’s little cuts and bruises. Felix demands that he do it every day, instead of one of Gautier’s physicians, because even though it loosens and falls off within a few hours, it feels better Sylvain’s way. 

Ingrid would scold him and tell him to be more careful. Dimitri would dote on him, brush back the little hairs always falling from his forehead, and promise to be by his side so he would not harm himself next time. Sylvain is his favorite, because Sylvain does none of these things. He just cares for Felix afterward, no matter what he’s done. 

Sylvain smiles when Felix complains. He laughs and reassures him when he cries, even if he does make him mad sometimes when Sylvain calls him a baby. Sylvain sees the line between treating Felix like he’s incapable of caring for himself and like he is a saint who can do no harm. He decides to treat him like a human instead.

He doesn’t like house Gautier, with its frigid winds, barren lands, and too many horses that bring too many smells, but he likes Sylvain, and with each additional year that he visits he will realize just how unfortunate a thing that will come to be. 

His stay at the Gautier estate that Imperial year is the longest time he will have Sylvain to himself until the war that is to be has come and gone. It is also the year that they make their promise.

It was a terrible thing, that promise. Terrible when they made it, terrible ten years down the line when he realized just how long ago he had chosen Sylvain.

He had been with Sylvain for a month already while Duke Rodrigue accompanied the King in some act of diplomacy that was too difficult—and too boring—for Felix to comprehend. By then, they had tired of their usual games. Felix was sitting on a lopsided tree swing, one hand fisting a chunk of bread topped with spiced jam, while the other held onto the rope and slowly twisted his body around. Sylvain was sitting at the roots, a bored expression on his face as he gathered and rearranged the freezing dirt around him.

“Let’s go fishing.” He announces suddenly, as if the singular idea would solve all of the problems in the world.

Felix licks his fingers, not caring at all about how clean it is. “Why would we do that? And how? Everything’s frozen.”

Sylvain’s eyes shine mischievously. “We could break the ice. We can use our crests! We should practice using them anyway. It’ll be fun!”

Felix shrugs, not really thinking it will be as fun as Sylvain is making it out to be, but he also can’t think of anything better to do. “Okay, but I don’t want to get wet.” 

Sylvain grins, standing and stretching as if he was going to run the whole way there, which in all probability he would. “You won’t fall in. Just give me the line when you find a fish that’s bigger than you and it won’t be a problem.”

Felix stops his spinning and jumps at Sylvain, intending to confront him about his comment, but Sylvain is already running away, that same snickering from when he took Felix’s sword floating through the air again.

Sylvain has activated his crest before a few times, but Felix has no idea how his works. His father doesn’t let him train or use any real weapons. His brother is to be their warrior, Felix is to be Dimitri’s Queen. The sword Glenn gave him was a recent gift Rodrigue didn’t know about, and despite him bragging about how he was training to become a swordsman, Felix didn’t even know how to swing it correctly on every try yet. 

It doesn’t stop Sylvain from swiping a few spears from the Margrave’s copious supplies. Sylvain slips them under an oversized coat that used to be Miklan’s. He explains how to use them while the two young boys walk beyond the edge of the estate, to the frozen river the hunting dogs pass through when they’re trying to throw off their scent.

Felix peers at his icy reflection. The boy who looks back at him has saucers for eyes, bright and almost orange in the glassy glow, giving him the impression of a wary wolf. He gives the ice before him a hesitant prod, making Sylvain snort beside him. 

“You’re never going to make a crack in it if you do it like that, Lix. Remember what I told you on the way here, it takes a different momentum than a sword.” 

Felix furrows his brows in jittery irritation. “I know that! It’s just...longer than I’m used to.” He blushes hotly when Sylvain smirks, but doesn’t snap at him when the older boy decides not to take the opportunity to tease Felix about his size. 

Felix steadies his breathing and rears back, the grip of his lance all wrong and unsteady in his hands. He was going to overshoot and push himself out onto the ice, but only Sylvain could see that and unfortunately, he realized it too late.

Felix tumbles forward, shock and fear carrying him even further than Sylvain had predicted and the Crest of Fraldarius chooses that exact moment of impact to activate for the very first time. 

The ice shatters in front of Them. The deep cracks around the hole Felix created are quick to spread outward, scaring him still for fear that his weight would cause them to fully collapse. 

“Felix! Lix, stay right there okay? Don’t move yet.”

Sylvain’s voice sounds like it’s coming from so far away. Felix shivers and pants nervously, looking for it’s source. He whips around so fast that it makes him dizzy and he starts to slip on the unforgiving ice. The area where he’s standing cracks even further, separating it completely until he is wobbling on top of a slab. 

“Hey! Felix, it’s okay. I’m over here.”

Sylvain is walking toward him gingerly on the ice, eyes trained on the safest path before him. Felix’s breathing calms and he even feels a little warmer just by the presence of his best friend coming to help him. 

Sylvain is only feet away from him now. He reaches out his arms to pull Felix off of the slab. There hasn’t been enough time to create a space where it could float away so he easily crosses over, relaxing as they return and thinking that they are already safe.

He doesn’t see the crack before him as he impatiently races to the edge. He never makes it there because Sylvain does first, grabbing Felix by his arm and throwing him far enough to roll onto the bank before he slips under into the river’s depths.

Felix panics, searching frantically for a glimpse of red across the frosty expanse. He spies hands poking out of the water and hears the sputtering of Sylvain as he tries to find some edge to grab onto that isn’t so slippery. He’s entrapped in a small circle, unable to pull himself out and Felix doesn’t know what to do. 

“F..F..elix..help..” Sylvain’s teeth are knocking so severely against his lip that just a few words cause him to bite down hard enough to draw blood. Felix starts to cry, he can’t help it, he still doesn’t know what to do. 

Sylvain does, but he continues to struggle to speak. He’s pale. His lips are turning blue, and his soaked hair has darkened to a color that resembles the blood beginning to decorate his chin. 

“B..reak the ice..Y..your..crest.” He manages to spit out. Felix startles, remembering how it just activated and the feeling of power glowing from the base of his hands into the unfamiliar weapon. 

He can’t stop his crying, but he searches for the spear Sylvain threw to the side when he followed Felix onto the ice, his eyes never leaving Sylvain as he sputters in the water. It’s not far, and when he picks it up this time it feels different in his hold. The panic that nearly toppled him before is replaced with a small certainty, as if everything within him was aligned to unleash the spear’s full potential. He raises it without thinking, adjusting the position just as Sylvain had shown him before. His crest activates again as he stabs the point of the spear into the largest crack he can reach with perfect accuracy and pressure. The ice makes an ominous creaking sound as it falls apart all around Sylvain. Neither of them are particularly good swimmers, but he is close enough to the bank that Felix can meet him halfway and drag him the rest of the way out. 

Felix lugs Miklan’s old coat over to Sylvain who’s shivering and curling up painfully on the ground. He rubs them off as best as he can, unsure of what else to do. It’s freezing, and he can’t carry Sylvain—he isn’t strong enough. Sylvain stares up at him with grateful eyes. He tries to praise Felix despite his pained smile and chattering teeth. 

“A..mazing Lix..who..knew..you could..do that.” 

Felix is about to tell him to stop talking, to start crying again about how they couldn’t get back to the estate and were probably going to die out there, but he’s spared the emotional outburst by a sudden searing from the mark of Blaiddyd on his wrist and the sound of a dismayed Dimitri coming over the hill screaming their names. 

Once he’s certain that Sylvain is being cared for and both boys have changed out of their soaking clothes, Felix clings to Dimitri, hot tears staining his soulmate’s elegant collar. Dimitri holds him firmly as they wait outside Sylvain’s door. His hands comb soothingly through Felix’s hair as he assures him that everything all is right and that he is there. 

They’re only allowed one in at a time. Felix looks to Dimitri, silently begging him for his blessing to go first. Dimitri nods, a relieved smile on his face at the news that their friend is going to be okay and Felix’s rapid mood change. 

Sylvain lays in a bed in the corner, coughing, dwarfed by so many blankets he’s prone to disappear. Felix runs to him, throwing his face into where he assumes Sylvain’s chest is and sobs his apologies. 

Sylvain tries to laugh—a croaky, horrible sound that just leads to more coughing. “You don’t have to be so worried about me, Fe. Look, I’m gonna be fine.” He gives Felix a wobbly thumbs up. It’s not very convincing, but Felix’s sobs lessen to sniffles, enough that he can respond.

“I...I thought you were going to die..!” He fists at the blankets, lifting his tear-stained face with shame at the impulse of his earlier actions.

“Aw, c’mon Felix, you know I wouldn’t do that to you.” Sylvain’s lips tremble as he smiles and lifts a shaky hand from underneath all the covers to bury itself into Felix’s hair. Felix leans into it, grateful for the touch that proves his friend is still here with him. “How about this? Let’s make a promise.” 

“A promise?”

Felix doesn’t have many of those. He’s promised to be Dimitri’s Queen when he grows up, but he didn’t decide that, the Goddess did. He’s never made a real promise before. 

“Yeah. I won’t die on you, as long as you promise you won’t either. Whatever tries to kill us is going to have to take both of us out at the same time.” He laughs until the crinkling of his cheeks makes him sneeze and Felix eyes set with determination.

“I promise I wont! I won’t die. As long as I stay alive, you’ll live forever, right?”

Sylvain holds his pinky out in front of Felix’s face. “Sure, sure. I’ll live forever with a stubborn little guy like you refusing to let me go. So, does that sound like a good promise?”

Felix nods and wipes the remainder of his tears away as he wraps his pinky around Sylvain’s. Sylvain’s skin is already thickening from years of training with a lance, but touching it gives Felix a soft and hopeful feeling in his chest. He later recognizes it as trust, and much later as love, but for now, he only knows it as relief over the safety of his closest friend. 

He doesn’t tell Dimitri about the promise when he rejoins him in the hall, the crests on their wrists briefly brushing each other in a practiced greeting. He doesn’t understand why the promise is also a secret, but somehow it goes unspoken until the days to come where the prospect of death is no longer just an escalated accident but a cruel reality as they watch those they love around them fall.

* * *

“My dearest.”

Felix looks up into the bright blond of Dimitri’s hair hanging over his face like a halo. It’s his 12th summer, and this time his father has sent him away to Fhirdiad on an extended visit so he can begin to “form a more intimate bond with Dimitri.” 

It’s nothing like... _that_. They’re too young to experience any of the desires they’ve begun learning about in their dynamic etiquette courses. They won’t present until they are on the cusp of adulthood. Dimitri has kissed him, once, when he arrived, a small soft press against his lips. It didn’t feel like much of anything at all, yet Dimitri had flushed when he pulled away, apologizing for his indecency. Felix likes Dimitri, and didn’t mind the kiss, but he’d much rather run alongside him holding hands, jumping into the cold sea of the Rhodos Coast, licking the salt from their lips.

He accepts Dimitri’s hand and allows himself to be pulled to his side as they sit peacefully watching the sun set in the royal garden. It is always like this with Dimitri. Their encounters are placid, simple, and effortless. Their wrists press together as Dimitri shifts, sending a shiver down his spine when the mark of their crests make contact. It feels good, it feels easy and complete, yet Felix is becoming more and more aware that tranquility and true love are not the same thing. 

He’s wondered about it since he was young, the idea of such a love, and the concept of soulmates. He learned quickly that nothing good would come from speaking of it with his father.

_“The Fraldarius lineage has always been in the direct service of the Blaiddyds, but yours is a special generation, Felix. Not once in all of our history have the offspring of the two houses borne a soul-bound pair. I could not be prouder that the Goddess has blessed me with two sons destined to dedicate their lives to our future King, one as his Shield, and the other as his Bride.”_

Rodrigue placed a firm hand on his shoulder and left Felix to ponder his honest questions alone at that. He always had somewhere else to be, it seemed. He always had the same things to say. Everything was about honor, and destiny, and sacrifice. It left a sour taste in Felix’s mouth over time and they spoke less and less. 

His mother, while she lived, was his main source of comfort and encouragement, but his memory of her fades every day. 

She’d never quite recovered from his birth. He knew that now, it’s a guilt that builds under his skin from time to time. The feel of her smooth, cold, hands, the delicate pressure of her lips on his forehead, and the sound of her voice, tinkling like chimes are difficult to summon, but her words remain, as if engraved.

The last time he’d gone to her was shortly after he’d turned five. The winter was waning, but there was enough chill left to justify crawling under the covers and pressing his face into her shoulder. Her body was always colder than his, even under the heavy bedding, but he didn’t mind.

_“Mother. Why did the Goddess choose ‘Mitri and I to be together?”_

_She places a hand, large and comforting, at the top of his small skull, fingers softly scratching at his scalp._

_“I’m not sure.” She always answers him honestly. She’s the only one who does; everyone else makes something up because they think he’s too young to notice. “Do you not like Dimitri, little love?”_

_Felix took a few seconds to consider it. “I think so. I like being around him. He’s nice to me and playing with him in Fhirdiad is fun.”_   
  
_“I’m glad. He will be an even kinder King with you by his side.” She smiles—her lips are thin and dry, as is her hair. He doesn’t understand what that means yet, and only snuggles closer into her neck._

_“You and father aren’t soulmates, right?” He’s asked her this before. He asks her this every time he comes._

_“We are not. I count myself lucky to have married him, even so.”_

_Felix hesitates a minute, allowing his mother to continue to stroke his hair. Their conversation usually stops here, but today his curiosity leaves him itching for more._

_“Do you love father? Even though he’s not your soulmate?”_

_Her fingers still for a moment at the innocent candor of her son. She lowers her head toward his, placing a reassuring kiss to his temple._

_“I do. We love each other very much.”_

_“Then...can two people who are soulmates not be in love?”_

_He regrets the question as soon as he says it. He shouldn’t even be thinking about it. He shouldn’t be asking his mother of all people, but she is the only one he trusts enough to allow it to slip through the cracks._

_He raises his eyes to hers, worrying that she will admonish him, though she never has before. Instead, he finds a gentle humor there._

_“I have not heard of two soulmates who didn’t love one another before. Still, all that I know of soulmates are from stories; love as it truly lives is unpredictable. I cannot tell you when or where you will feel it, only that once you find it, you must determine to never let it go.”_

_The words only further Felix’s confusion. He fears that he will fail at the one task that everyone has praised him for since he could walk—something which is truthfully out of his control. He knows his love for his mother and his brother, and even the more formal, respectful care that he shows his father. Being around Dimitri feels different than that, but it hurts his head to try and figure out how._

_His mother smooths his eyebrows with one of her freezing fingers, calming his thoughts. His eyes work to meet hers again; they are the only physical trait he inherited from her—an exact copy._

_“Try not to worry too much about it, Felix. Love is natural, let it come when it does.” She squeezes him and he smiles and sighs into her hug. Love is natural between them, and love between him and Dimitri will be the same some day. Today his love for his mother is what he will focus on._

The problem is, seven years has passed since the last he spoke to her, and being with Dimitri now is the same as it was then. It is nothing like the love she told him of. 

They sit in silence for a long time. Long enough for the moon to rise into the sky. Someone will be along soon to make them come inside, he should tell Dimitri that, but the Prince’s mind seems to be elsewhere tonight as well and Felix is hesitant to disturb it.

He’s smiling, yet his eyes are pensive. Too much already for a child, perhaps not so out of character for a boy who will become King. 

“Felix, I will miss your presence when you return to the Fraldarius manor. I have immensely enjoyed our time together.”

That’s right. He’s to leave tomorrow. The days have all but blurred into one while he’s lost himself to his memories. 

“I’ll miss you too, ‘Mitri.”

Dimitri does not look at him as he speaks. His eyes are drawn upwards in concentration at the stars.

“I am grateful to the Goddess that it is you she selected to be my Queen.” 

Felix doesn’t respond to this. Usually he could find something to say—his father’s given him enough ideas as to the role he’s meant to play—but the memories of his mother and Sylvain have left an odd feeling in his gut. He folds an arm over his stomach and tries to focus on the same spot in the sky that has Dimitri so enraptured, waiting for the Prince to say something else.

“Do you know about the creation legend of Fodlan’s constellations?” 

Felix shakes his head. He’s sure someone’s tried to tell him before, but he’s not interested in things like that. He’ll have to listen now though, if his mate is.

Dimitri’s eyes sparkle as he guides Felix’s head to rest upon his shoulder while he points at the various shapes, naming them from memory. 

“All of our largest and brightest stars were once great men and women of Fodlan. They were selected by the Goddess to join her in the sky where they could lead their descendants even in the ether. As soulmates, we are to be married and bonded when we turn eighteen, but when we die, our spirits will align and ascend together to be reborn as guiding lights of Faerghus.” 

A few years ago, Felix might have believed him. A bit earlier and he might have even liked the idea. Yet now, all he can think about when he hears that fairytale promise is how even death cannot save him when he was born into an existence where he never was free. 

“Can I ask you something, Dimitri?” 

Dimitri tears his face away from the stars at the absence of his nickname and the formality of Felix’s tone. “Yes, of course, my heart.” He takes Felix’s hand again, surveying him with the kind of rapt attention that Felix used to delight in but has come to unnerve him well within their last few visits.

“What if I didn’t present as an Omega, or you did instead?” 

He registers brief shock in his soulmate’s expression, which soon gives way to a polite chuckle. Felix restrains his irritation. 

“It is a creative notion, but such a thing has never happened before. All soulmates have presented as Alphas and Omegas, and I’m fairly certain the older of the pair is always the Alpha.”

He’s unable to resist a small huff of exasperation. How does everyone just _know_ this? He doesn’t need a history lesson right now, he needs Dimitri to actually answer him.

“But say that it did happen. Would you still have me then?” 

The crown prince’s face remains the same as it always does when he talks to Felix. His eyes are dewy and unfocused under the mop of gold. His small smile is constant in an unnerving reverence. It feels off, like he’s staring right through Felix, like he never listens. Nothing Felix has ever said to Dimitri has gotten him to change that expression. He wants to see it, just once, what that face would look like twisted in an emotion other than blind worship.

“It would not change a thing. I would still take you as my Queen and love you all of my days.” 

Dimitri kisses the back of his hand. Felix’s wrist burns, but his heart does not. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am on [twitter](http://twitter.com/thefriedpipes)! Come talk more about fe3h with me 🤗


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year Three Houses Fandom! 
> 
> Heads up before you read this chapter, 
> 
> There is a TW for gore and violence. It’s easy to see coming up, as Felix approaches a battlefield, but it lasts until just about the final few sentences. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

Felix doesn’t see Dimitri again until he assimilated into the army sent to quell the Western Rebellion. He sees Ingrid and Sylvain twice more before then. The first time, the three gather together too soon after the return of Glenn’s bloodstained armor for a private funeral. The second is only him and Sylvain, the tight heat of an embrace too unambiguous in meaning for Felix in the dead and darkened forests of the Gautier estate. He pretends the lump in his throat is from nerves and not his arousal at the smell of Sylvain’s musky aftershave tickling his nostrils where they’re pressed under his jaw.

Sylvain should be close to presenting by now—the 18th year of his birth has arrived. There have been no signs yet as to what, but Felix is almost positive that the crest bearer will also be an Alpha. Almost all of their lineage was. Traditionally, the head of the house of Gautier was required to be one and Miklan’s Beta status along with his lack of a crest was just as much a part of the Margrave’s decision to disown him as his horrific actions and the abuse of his younger son. Even now, there was something so enticing about Sylvain’s natural smell that drew Felix in, and though Felix should not present as an Omega for at least two more years, it was getting more and more difficult to resist the urge to scent him. 

He wills himself not to think about how hesitant Sylvain also appears to be when he lets go of him to hop onto one of their horses. He recounts his plan to smuggle himself into the army as a squire aloud once more for good luck and measure. 

“Felix, are you sure about this? There’s no way Duke Rodrigue won’t notice you’re gone before you make it far enough to blend in. And even then...it’s his army. I’m sure it wont take too long to find you and give the order to bring you back.”

Felix scoffs. “Since when have you referred to my father using his title?” Sylvain shrugs, still cautiously waiting for an actual response to the likely situation. 

“If that happens, fine. I’m going anyway and doing everything I can for as long as I’m there. And I’m not heading back without putting up a hell of a fight.” 

Sylvain’s smile doesn’t diminish the worry in his eyes. “I know you wouldn’t, because you won’t even listen to me right now.” He sighs in resignation. “I wish I could go with you but my father insists on keeping me here to watch the border with him.”

Felix hums, acknowledging Sylvain’s desire, hoping that he doesn’t realize just how badly he wishes for the same. “Dimitri will be there. He’s—I’ll be perfectly safe.” 

“I know you say that, but we don’t know for sure.”

Sylvain scratches at the back of his head, a habit Felix has learned means there’s something he’s afraid of mentioning.

“It’s just...a hard thing to believe, that they would let the heir to the throne leave to fight in a rebellion two years after they almost lost everyone...”

“He’s there.” Felix interrupts Sylvain, his mind already grasping at memories he doesn’t want to surface. He rubs nervously at his wrist. “I know it.” 

Soul marks could be a very useful thing to have when your soulmate was someone as important as the future King. They could also be terrible in the event of a tragedy, as Ingrid’s was when Glenn died and the agonizing scarring of her wrist turned so black with blood they thought it necrotic. They bound you to a person—to the point of invading your privacy. You could feel one another’s emotions when they were strong enough, which made it difficult to lie, but most importantly you couldn’t hide your presence. Felix knew Dimitri had left Fhirdiad and was constantly on the move. He was casting such intense waves of hatred and disgust that it was difficult for Felix to maintain his own peace. Right now, it was the only logical place he could be. 

Felix knew Dimitri was out there, just like he knew he needed to go to him. He knew that something was bound to happen that was spurring his extreme desire to see Dimitri after hardly hearing from him in years. He knew that like he knew how to convince his father to allow him to train in the ways of the sword after Glenn died, like he knew the exact shape and size of every minuscule freckle that littered the space between Sylvain’s cheeks and the bridge of his nose and under his eyes. 

He knew that like he’s known he’s loved Sylvain for years now, and that the Goddess is wrong and cruel and even reprehensible to tie him to a boy that he will never see as anything more than a friend. 

Sylvain doesn’t have a soulmate, but Felix’s is Dimitri and he hates it. 

Yet, Dimitri is still someone he cares for, and someone his heart tells him he needs to help if he can. And he can, and he will, and he needs to leave now before he jumps off this damn horse and pushes Sylvain down in the cool soil to kiss him with all of his remaining breath. 

“I have to go, Sylvain.”

His hands remain loose on the reins despite the words. He needs a moment to commit to memory every detail of Sylvain to recount later when his will is waning. He doesn’t know when they will next be able to see each other, if at all. 

“I know.” Sylvain sounds almost glum about it, but Felix convinces himself it’s just because he doesn’t like to be left out. The lands of Gautier are boring now that he’s older and bears responsibilities. He must have run out of his pick of girls to flirt with by now.

“Remember the aliases when we send our correspondence.”

Felix almost cringes at the formality of his words; he sounds so much like his father. He needs to cut his attachment off early though, if he’s to continue. They both do.

Sylvain smiles still, and walks forward. The smile is one of the fakes he’s developed over the years. He must know that Felix can tell, but he wears it all the same because that is what he does. He’s the one they’ve come to rely on, the one who shoulders all of their burdens regardless of if they asked for it or not. Felix refuses to allow it anymore. That’s why he’ll take care of this, alone. 

Sylvain reaches up to caress the smooth mane of the horse he picked out for Felix. It’s a well tempered stallion, healthy, yet a mite smaller than the rest, which seats Felix perfectly. Felix watches the false smile leak into something more gentle and genuine when the horse softly whinnies, appreciating the touch. Even with his dislike for horses, seeing just how much Sylvain loved them was enough to convince Felix to learn the essentials of riding over the past few years. It was enough to keep the animal alive and get him to where he needed to be, that’s about all. 

It surprises Felix when Sylvain moves the hand on the mane to place it over one of his. His hand is so large and thick that Felix is certain it could cover both of his own if they were bunched together. It’s almost offensively warm, so why does he feel chills running throughout his body at the point of contact?

“Don’t wait too long to write. I want to know that you at least arrived safely.” 

Sylvain doesn’t remove his hand after he’s finished speaking. Felix can’t think of anything else to say, only that he wishes he’d never leave if only it meant that Sylvain would never stop touching him, which he can’t, he’d never...

He breaks the contact instead and prods his horse forward, giving a short nod to Sylvain over his shoulder as he goes. He can feel his best friend’s eyes burning holes into his back long after the estate is behind him, until the sunrise eliminates the aching with it’s own warmth. 

* * *

  
The ride is not long—less than two days. Felix has more than enough food and water and stamina to make it. As he approaches the camp he dismounts by a small pond, just out of sight. He studies his reflection in the water for a moment before retrieving a small dagger from the inside of his coat. Carefully he pulls his braid taut and cuts through it. The tug hurts more and takes longer than he anticipated, but once he’s done he musses some dirt into what remains and discards the hair in a nearby bush. 

No one should know him here, except the knight, Erick, he’s promised to squire for, and Felix has concealed his true identity from him as well. It’s a small group. His father has never even visited with their commander personally. Even so, his long hair is very well taken care of and might give away his status as a noble. A commoner wouldn’t have the time or access to what’s required to maintain it’s health and shine—not with the Kingdom how it is now. 

He approaches cautiously, on his own. He sent the horse back with some of the supplies. It was also too nice and would arouse suspicion. He’d find his way to the estate just fine; all their horses were trained to return on their own within a few days travel.

The guards spot him and immediately rush to interrogate, but Felix already has everything worked out. He gives his middle name, Hugo, as his first, and his surname, Black, the surname given to all bastards in the local region. 

One of the guards crosses his arms and looks at him suspiciously, eyes falling on the healthy glow of his skin and his clothes—which were probably still too clean even after ‘borrowing’ them from the servants of the Gautier estate and rubbing sweat and dirt on himself. 

“You don’t particularly strike me as a bastard, boy..”

Felix remains calm, having prepared a response for this. He shrugs and pretends like he’s used to people treating him this way. “Wasn’t aware that we looked much like anything. Thought that was kinda the point.” 

The guards laugh at this, a loud bark like sound that already annoys him. They let him through, however, and no one even spares a glance in his direction as he searches for the tent Erick will be in. 

He runs into the man before he finds the tent, which is lucky because they all kind of look the same and he wasn’t about to go introducing himself and asking around. 

“You’re late, Hugo. We left a few days ago—was going to have to pick up a new squire in the next big town we come across.”

He’s a gruff man, likely in his thirties, though Felix doesn’t really know what years of fighting can do to someone’s appearance. He’s not one to ask questions though, nor does he mince words, and that’s a good person to bet on in this situation. 

“Sorry. I’m here now.” Is all Felix says. He knows it’s enough. Erick will get over it by nightfall.

“Hmmpf. You’re lucky we haven’t faced anyone yet.” He turns at that and leads Felix back to their tent, reminding him of his duties as they go.

* * *

  
Life as a squire is boring, incredibly so. Felix expected it, that’s not why he’s here. One of the upsides is that when he’s not tending to his duties, he’s training, and he’s never been able to train so freely and so often as he is now. There are a lot of different kinds of weapons here—more than he had access to at home—and even more variety than what he’d seen at the Gautier estate. He still favored swords, and intended to use them, but he also discovered other preferences. The bow was a nice fit for his lithe form, and the cook particularly enjoyed encouraging him in it when he brought back meat from his brief hunting excursions. He also found he enjoyed close combat fighting with gauntlets. He was faster than most of the men there and could get in multiple hits before he needed to fall back.

He was careful to prevent his crest from activating as much as he could, but he couldn’t escape it all the time. His luck continues; they weren’t very educated in the subject and didn’t recognize it was the Crest of Fraldarius. It wasn’t unheard of for bastards to have crests. Minor nobles usually had more children in attempts to produce a crest. Those children liked to fuck around, and they’d show up every now and then even in some commoner’s bloodline. 

Dimitri’s not here, but he’s not too far either. They were certain to cross the group he was traveling with soon. Felix didn’t know how he would react when Dimitri saw him. It’s been years, but he can’t have changed that much, right? He must feel that Felix is close, that he is searching for him, just as Felix knows his presence. They were soulmates—they should understand one another.

Two months have passed since he left Sylvain in the forest. He’d sent news that he was safe like he’d promised and not much else, and had received a reply from him that was much of the same. His father probably expected his return from Gautier by now. He wonders if he’d already figured it out, or if he’d be able to weasel it out of Sylvain eventually. Felix wouldn’t blame him if he did, Duke Rodrigue is not someone who is wise to cross for a young noble in his position.

He just needed to evade them a little longer, he can feel it. He’d see Dimitri soon. The only problem is, after that, he’s not sure what he’ll do. 

A wet nose nudging his face snaps him out of his thoughts. Erick’s horse, Ale, tickles him with an impatient breath. He must have stopped brushing at some point. He resumes, returning to his surroundings, and Ale settles down, enjoying the grooming. As far as horses go, he’s the most tolerable Felix has come across. He had been least looking forward to this aspect of his duties, but found he could actually relax around the handsome cherry red stallion. 

Felix asked Erick why he named the horse Ale one night as they prepared for bed. The knight shrugged and said, “Like both of them, figured it was appropriate.” He turned in his bedroll and promptly began snoring.

Felix’s ears pick up on the distant clinking of armor coming toward him. Erick pulls him away from his task, cupping his hands around his mouth and yelling, not even bothering to finish the distance between them. “Hugo! We’re coming up on a big group of the rebellion by dawn. Get us as many rabbits as you can for our stew tonight. Weather’s getting too cold to find much else.” 

Felix leads Ale back to the temporary covering where they tie all the horses, grabs his bow and other hunting necessities, then leaves. 

There is very little life in the forests here. He doubts he will be able to find enough rabbits to fill the bellies of even a fraction of the men who will be fighting tomorrow. He considers searching for a nearby body of water and whittling a wooden spear to catch some fish instead, but he doesn’t want to stay alone past sunset in an unfamiliar place. 

He manages to come across a few eventually, and some birds that are large enough to warrant the use of an arrow. Felix tries to reuse his ammunition for hunting purposes if he can. Resources will only become more scarce as they progress. 

His soul mark is tingling; they are coming closer and closer to approaching Dimitri’s group every day. Felix doesn’t feel quite the same about their reunion as he did when he first left. The closer he gets to Dimitri’s vicinity, the more the Crest of Blaiddyd on his wrist burns and throbs with pain. What has happened to Dimitri to make it react this way? Felix almost dreads finding out. Is Dimitri fighting alongside his men openly, or has he disguised himself as Felix has? He hopes it’s the latter. He doesn’t want to see Dimitri suffer any injuries. 

In the end, he returns with five rabbits and three fat birds. He forgoes his dinner, nauseated at the thought that Dimitri could be involved in tomorrow’s battle. He’s decided, by the time they all retire to their tents, that he needs to be there too. 

The Blaiddyd crest pulses in agreement.

* * *

  
Felix arises well before dawn to prepare everything—his duties as a squire and also, his duty to Dimitri. He conceals a small bow in his pack, along with daggers. They look like mere hunting tools, and they could be, but Felix has become quite adept at handling them in the past few months and is confident they would serve as a decent method of defense. 

Another thing he has become confident in is his stealth. He slinks in the cover of the forest far enough behind the army to track them without being seen. Truth be told, they were all more brawn than anything, but it worked well enough to keep them alive—proof that the rebellion army was outclassed in every way. It was merely a matter of time before they ran out of the resources, and the men, to continue resisting.

The noises coming from the battlefield ahead are terrible. Clanking and screaming are all he can make out at first, but the closer he gets and the longer he adjusts, his brain starts to compartmentalize all of the different ways a man can sound as he dies. The crunching of human bones as they are crushed underfoot or sliced clean through with a rapier is so much harsher to the ears than the almost cathartic process of preparing the animals he brought back from his hunting trips. 

There are no archers or mages left nearby to spot him, only a few priests. Felix averts his eyes as they are cornered by a cavalier and gathered one by one on the end of his spear. He recalls his thought yesterday about finding a stream of fish and impaling them on a stick in the same way. To the Goddess who watches the wars we wage through all the ages of time, are men fish? 

The Crest of Blaiddyd on his wrist burns so severely he wonders if there is some dark magic he had missed cast at it that might actually cause it to catch flame. He sweats at the overwhelming feeling; the grip of his miniature bow in his hand slips as he rearranges himself in the bushes, desperately seeking Dimitri. He’s positive now that he is out there somewhere. 

His ears hone in on some particularly dreadful wailing to the west. It is more secluded, so most of the armies steered clear of the heavily wooded area. Felix heads toward it, keeping low to the ground. The horrific grunting and yowling easily stands out against the other noises he has by now adjusted to. Did the rebellion somehow bring along a demonic beast..? The possibility makes Felix shiver in revulsion.

A repetitive flash of light and the sound of carnage causes him to gag. There are bodies already littering the ground outside of the thicket. Most of them are incomplete, their stomachs opened to reveal the stillness of once pulsing organs. Limbs hang limply from the last few ropes of muscle, if not otherwise flung alongside the severed heads, pierced into the branches of the trees. The sheer amount of blood and guts staining the clearing are unavoidable underneath his boots. He ignores the squelching as much as he can; it’s not difficult when his eyes are transfixed instead on the grotesque scene unveiling before him.

The piles of dead are so numerous, Felix cannot begin to count them—he only notes that they are all taller and wider than him. The stench of blood and piss and shit is overwhelming, and he is glad that he’s forgone food for the past half of a day. There are only a few soldiers left fighting in the clearing, but the combination of their movements and the gruesome atmosphere makes Felix so dizzy he cannot make out much more than a blur. 

His mark throbs with unprecedented pain. Dimitri is here—he’s suffering. Is he among the dying? Perhaps buried under a pile of corpses, unable to seek help? Felix’s nails dig into the site, willing himself with all of his strength to focus through it. He catches a glint of familiar gold making it’s way to the middle, where the largest pile of corpses are gathered.

His feet begin to move without any thought or warning. He has to get over there. It’s Dimitri! It’s..

_No. Goddess...no._

Dimitri is not buried under a pile of corpses. He is not injured or dying. Not at all.

He’s climbing them, the head of the final warrior he’d just claimed knocking against the glassy eyes of the fallen as he drags it dispassionately behind him, bloody claws digging ruthlessly deep into the scalp. He doesn’t notice Felix at all—there’s no sign of him noticing anything, feeling anything—as Felix falls to his knees, mouth agape in terror, clutching the Blaiddyd crest bubbling on his wrist so firmly it begins to bruise.

He reaches the top, muttering like a madman, like a curse that circles your nightmares in the form of repetitive chanting. When he finally stands he holds the head high, ripping the tongue from it’s slack mouth to throw it triumphantly into the distance. 

Felix’s stomach finally reacts. He vomits nothing but water and bile at the foot of the fetid pile. Dimitri hears him and turns, still standing with the head in his grasp, panting and growling—shaking—as if the body that holds him could burst apart at the seams without prompting. His eyes look right through Felix and there is no recognition. Felix sees not a trace of the Dimitri he knew in the wide blown pupils, dark and clouded with an evil he could not even imagine in his most fearsome thoughts. 

Dimitri laughs. The laugh is like a scream from the bowels of hell. It continues, cutting through the silence of the graveyard for what seems like an eternity. Then, he makes his way down from his grisly throne, drifting toward Felix with the body language of a predator who knows they have all the time and skill in the world to toy with their prey.

Felix stumbles backward, panicking. The bow still hanging loosely from his right hand feels like a useless anchor that is still somehow his only lifeline. The agonizing pain from his wrist has spread all the way to his shoulder and it would bother him to the point of begging Dimitri to cut it off if it wasn’t for the fact that he was certain he was about to die, and so soon none of it would matter anyway. 

His back slams into the still fuming trunk of a tree. The shocked whimper he releases cuts off in his throat when he sees Dimitri lick his lips in anticipation of his cornering. Dimitri’s face is soaked in blood and other various matter that Felix is incapable of taking the energy to comprehend right now. He bares his teeth and Felix catches skin stuck between sharp canines. 

His brain registers two things at the sight of it. First of all, Dimitri has probably used those teeth to tear out a man’s throat. Secondly, the canines, the smell of Dimitri’s pheromones, so strong even in the middle of an area littered with hundreds of fresh corpses, and the raw power alongside uncontrollable rage that has Dimitri so removed from reality he cannot even recognize Felix is undeniable proof that Dimitri has presented as an Alpha—and far too soon.

One more thing. He is trapped, alone, between a decaying forest and mountains of corpses, about to be slaughtered by his soulmate.

He closes his eyes as Dimitri crosses the last few feet between them, thinking of the last time he saw Sylvain—the way his eyes looked before he went, glowing in the dim moonlight leaking through wooden skeletons. Felix wishes he would have stopped then, come closer before he left, counted every freckle he has, one last time. 

Felix raises his arms in an instinct to protect his chest, even as he resigns himself to death. He feels Dimitri still, the ragged breathing mere inches from his face. After a few seconds, he realizes the reaction has somehow stopped the chaotic assault. He gingerly opens his eyes as he senses the bloodlust fading. 

Dimitri is too close, closer than Felix thought, and the fluids and flecks of matter that nauseated Felix from a distance are even more sickening now. His pupils are shrinking, the blue light beginning to return to his eyes. There is no sign of inhuman laughter or cries in the trembling of his lips.

He retracts slightly, and touches a gory finger to Felix’s exposed wrist. 

“Felix…?”

His voice is harsh, animalistic still. It triggers an instinct to flee in Felix that he’s never felt at the presence of his mate before.

Felix braces himself against the tree with his other hand and begins to sob—tears of rage and relief and sorrow all twisted into one as he screams in agony at what he’s just witnessed and the feeling of Dimitri’s touch on his own crest, burning his skin in a way that is familiar and foreign at the same time. 

Dimitri grasps it tightly. A glimpse of humanity flickers in his eyes as he moves to comfort Felix in a compulsion that transcends his current psychology.

Felix’s hand comes up from the trunk of the tree to push firmly between their chests before Dimitri can press against him.

“L...let go of me. You—you’re a monster.” 

Dimitri chokes. His pupils return to normal and he retracts to claw at his heart with an extreme expression of distress as Felix squirms away, edging backwards, trying his best not to trip over the bodies without taking his eyes off of the Alpha. 

“Felix..” Dimitri calls his name again. The tears dribbling from his eyes begin to wash the dried blood from his cheeks, creating a pale line extending to his chin. 

Felix shakes his head and turns to run as fast as he can from the haunting image. Dimitri falls to his knees, screaming his soulmate’s name with all the strength that remains, and any man within miles that day would be lying if they said they did not hear the howling of a beast echoing once more through the scarlet swaying trees. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am on [twitter](http://twitter.com/thefriedpipes)! Come talk more about fe3h with me 🤗


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A shorter chapter here, but it’s just meant to bridge the plot before they head off to the Monastery.

The casualties suffered in the skirmish were not as great elsewhere as Felix anticipated. Most who died were those in the clearing Felix had the misfortune of being led to. By the time the medics and commanders came across the pyramids of bodies, Dimitri was long gone. They didn’t have the strength or the time to bury everyone, but it still took days of a near constant fire blazing to dispose of them. The smell of burning human flesh is not something Felix will soon, if ever, forget. 

Erick survived, and he knew that Felix had followed the army into battle. Even without the telltale dirt and blood and gore that had found it’s way onto his clothing, it was impossible to hide his trauma. Felix thought Erick would be angry; he even prepared to be dismissed. He did not expect the knight to clap a gentle hand onto his shoulder and pull him in.

“I’m glad you survived, boy. Fall back even further next time, you’re far from ready to take your first life.” 

He limps away in the direction of Ale, who digs a hoof into the dirt and shakes his mane when he sees his master approaching. Felix watches them, processing the additional experience of the gruff knight’s kindness. 

Felix wanders around the camp, not really heading anywhere in particular, but needing the movement to think. All around him, people are working hard to recover. Most returned with an injury of some sort, but only a few had to be dismissed due to more serious predicaments, such as missing limbs. 

He was sleeping and sharing his days with a group of killers—killers who still possessed the ability to come together and care for one another. They were not heartless, they were human. They were following orders. This was what his father was trying to protect him from. Is it truly so that some people are destined to deal death upon others? He doesn’t know.

This is the way that the people of Faerghus are trained to think. This is the way they are instructed to live. From the moment they are born, it is to a harsh life, a desolate wasteland full of meaningless bickering, scrounging for survival. The nobles and common folk alike fight the faceless beast that is convention. Felix thought he had escaped that lifestyle, but he is not that lucky. 

He had still found himself here, somehow, among the pawns, and the bishops, and the knights. If he is to be the Queen, he should have some authority to end this game, some semblance of power over their fates. 

But he thinks of Dimitri. He thinks of his King, and he cannot bear the thought of sharing the same board.

The Crest of Blaiddyd has given no response as to Dimitri’s whereabouts since Felix left him to his dead. It is no comfort at all. Felix has never felt it react this way; it is as if Dimitri has slipped off into an alternate dimension. It still aches, like a endless black hole that threatens to consume him, dim yet constant in the back of his mind. 

Felix sends one more letter to Sylvain, keeping it as vague as possible, but promising he would soon return. He said he would do all that he can, and he did, even if all that it was has amounted to nothing. His heart tells him that he has failed in the instinctual mission which brought him here. There is no additional reason to stay and subject himself to the dregs of the church’s subjugation. This rebellion will soon be quelled without him. There is little resistance left. 

He wants to say goodbye to Erick, but it’s not wise. The knight will never see him again, unless he recognizes him later when he’s forced to stand as a trophy at Dimitri’s side. Even then, he wouldn’t dare admit to anyone that he unknowingly took the future Queen of Faerghus as his squire and they’d slept in the same tent for months, barely a bedroll’s distance away.

Felix’s luck was bound to run out eventually, however, and it did. The day before he prepares to leave, there are two visitors, arriving barely half of an hour apart. They are the two people in all of Faerghus he least wants to see. 

After a week of rest and recuperation, the camp is getting ready to move again and meet up with other groups who have begun their final advance toward the headquarters of the rebellion. He would leave tomorrow, slip out from the distraction of their travels, and head back to Gautier. It would take him much longer on foot, but perhaps he could hitch a ride or steal a mount somewhere along the way. 

Three months was the longest extension of time he’d ever spent away on his own from Fraldarius, but he could just say he became lost in their wilderness in the past month or so. The Margrave was a careless idiot when it came to these things, and he and Sylvain were very busy defending the border at the moment. Sreng received word that there was infighting between the Kingdom, and had tried to use it to their advantage. 

Felix certainly looked the part of the lie now as well. He was filthy even after he’d washed up in the river, and the watered down diet had already affected his pubescent body.

He grabs his bow and shortsword, just in case he needs to defend himself from other humans, along with plenty of arrows. He’ll be hunting for most of his food until he finds his way back, which is fine by him. He’s used to not eating very often by now, especially after the last battle.

The hair on the back of his neck stands at attention when he feels an overwhelming presence behind him in the very trees he was planning to slip away in. His wrist pulses with life for the first time all week. 

“Felix. You mustn’t leave alone.”

Felix’s breath catches, his heartbeat accelerating already at the sound of the voice he knows better than even his own. He wants to run again, back into the center of their camp, but whether he goes ahead or behind of him he knows that there is no place right now where he will truly be safe. 

He turns instead, feeling that leaving his back exposed to something that terrifies him so much is the first problem to amend.

Dimitri has washed the blood from his hair and his skin, but even if he had access to the harsh soaps they imbue with magic in Fhirdiad there is no removing the deep set stains that bloom across his clothes. His eyes are shards of ice that pierce through Felix, reminding him of that day when his crest activated for the first time to shatter the frozen river—when he was certain he had subjected his dearest friend to take his place in death. 

The Dimitri that stands before him is not the snarling beast Felix saw in the forest. Neither is he the boy who pulled him to his side and spoke of the stars, of destiny, of eternity and love. He is a stranger that wears the husk of his childhood friend so skillfully that were Felix not so attuned to his inner turmoil, he might fail to recall all of what he saw.

He is Felix’s soulmate still. All of the blood in his body demands it. All of the fear in his heart denies it. 

“Let me be. It’s none of your concern.”

Felix’s response is quieter than he meant it. All of the authority in the statement fizzles out before it can spark flame.

Dimitri walks toward him, slowly and cautiously, different from his advance in the forest, yet Felix locks up in terror all the same. He stops, feet away from Felix, where his eyes soften into something more recognizable—still hardened with the foundation of grief. 

“I will always be concerned for the safety of my Queen. Felix, let me accompany you. I do not know where you are headed, but after years of being apart, I cannot bear to be separated in a place like this. Were you to travel on your own, I would never be able to stop worrying about you..”

“Worry about yourself!” Felix snaps, surprising both of them with the sudden venom. “About what you did to those men..”

Dimitri’s gaze returns to the hardened shards of ice.

“Those men deserved to die. They were responsible for the slaughter of my parents, all of the royal staff, and every innocent who had the misfortune of standing in their way.” 

Felix doesn’t even think of the consequences of his response, anger boiling in him at the atrocity of Dimitri’s behavior and his words.

“And in retribution, _you_ are now responsible for the slaughter of the parents of countless innocents. The children of your country will grow up to unknowingly serve a beast who would pass judgement on his citizen’s lives as if he were the _all knowing_ Goddess himself—“

He cringes as he cuts off, expecting the worst. Dimitri has never so much as raised his voice at him, but now, it feels like playing with fire. His own body could end up on that funeral pyre if he somehow triggered the return of that animal.

But Dimitri does nothing—denies nothing. Something in his face and his stance suggests defeat, which Felix supposes serves as his acceptance. Felix calms slightly as he feels deep sorrow seeping into his veins. There is not a trace of regret in it, just a heavy burdening that Dimitri obviously despises carrying, yet twisted himself into believing he must bear as his own. It’s not what Felix had hoped for, but it’s the most human process of emotions he’s felt from Dimitri in a long time. 

Instead of apologizing, because he is not sorry for stating the truth—never is—he changes the subject to something a bit more personal.

“Where have you been? Your crest...it was like you were gone.” 

Dimitri flushes slightly, a reaction that takes Felix a little off guard. 

“I went into a rut.” 

Felix’s stomach sinks like a stone. Early presentation was one thing, but Dimitri’s body should not have fully sexually matured in such a short period of time afterward. That kind of thing only happened to late bloomers, and those who were in the presence of a person in a rut or heat that they wanted to mate. 

Fear and sympathy flood Felix in an unsettling mixture. _If Dimitri had come across an unbonded Omega…_

“Nothing happened! I would never..”

Dimitri looks horrified at the thought Felix must have projected without meaning to. He edges a little closer. Felix allows it.

“I made sure to sequester myself, with the help of some of the remaining knights of my group. I do not know what happened while I was in the throes of it, but once it broke, I knew I needed to find you.” 

Felix nods, not wanting to voice his concerns about what might have happened if he wasn’t able to get away before then. If Dimitri was somehow able to present this early, then who is to say that it would not incite the same in him, merely by his proximity? What limits exist, if any, in the case of their obviously unusual soul bond? 

“Felix...I am sorry—I am so..” 

Dimitri’s shaken apology breaks with a widened gaze when a firm hand on Felix’s shoulder whips him around to crush him into an embrace against a warm, broad chest. Felix sees the waves of midnight blue hair in his peripherals. The protective scent of his father overpowers the atmosphere, making him fall slack into his arms. 

Rodrigue cries silently. Felix looks up into his face in shock. He has never seen his father cry, not even at the funerals of the two most important people in his life. He is known as the man made of stone, the shield of the former King Lambert, and the Alpha head of house Fraldarius. Why would he shed tears for his second son, whose only purpose is to serve as a bartering chip to ensure the continuation of the royal family? 

“Felix..my son. What you have done—it’s inexcusable. Yet, I am so grateful to have found you safe..” 

Felix squirms against him, tears forming in his own eyes at words he never dreamed he would hear from his father and the dreadful feeling of being caught, knowing that he failed once again and cannot avoid the consequences of it. 

“Duke Rodrigue.” Dimitri clears his throat. The Duke releases him at once, bowing to the Prince, pulling Felix firmly to his side.

“Prince Dimitri. I cannot thank the Goddess enough that you are also well and will be returning safely with us.” 

Felix flashes with anger. So Dimitri will not suffer any punishment? Even after all he has done? He merely followed his soulmate, trying to prevent the destruction that was to come, never harming a hair on another’s head. There is a world of difference between their actions, yet Felix is the one who will suffer once more, because he is the Queen, because he is only an Omega..

“I would humbly request that you do not punish Felix for what he has done. He has merely followed me at the instinct of our bond. It has been extremely difficult to be apart for so long. I will accept whatever sentence you find suitable in his stead. It is my responsibility to take the blame for leading him out here in the first place.”

Felix’s mouth almost drops. Why was Dimitri protecting him? This was a glimpse into the kind of behavior he’d exhibited when they were small. Did that gentle boy he sat beside and rubbed wrists with in the garden still exist? How much of him was left? 

Rodrigue stiffens. There is a heavy silence as he stops mid bow to accept Dimitri’s request. He sniffs the air with an expression of surprise.

“You’ve presented..” 

Dimitri clenches his jaw. “Yes...not but a week ago. Unexpectedly, though undoubtedly from the stress of the battlefield.” 

Stress was putting it lightly, but Felix knew to keep his mouth shut in the presence of two anxious Alphas trying to resist a foundation of simmering anger.

Rodrigue nods, worry sharp in his eyes. “Then we must return to Fhirdiad at once. You will need time and assistance to adjust.” He looks at Felix. “We will speak more about this at my office after we deliver the Prince safely to the castle. It will take little time to prepare our carriage. Neither of you are to leave my sight until then.”

* * *

  
Felix and Dimitri remain silent the entire journey home. When Dimitri gives him a departing embrace, Felix does not wrap his arms around him in return, and when he further kisses his temple in concern, rubbing their wrists together one last time, Felix feels like he has been doused in acid rain.

The first thing he wants to do as soon as they step foot into the Fraldarius manor is take a long, well deserved bath, but his father is true to his word and drags him inside his office immediately.

He stands behind his desk, staring, as if daring Felix to come up with an excuse before he begins. Felix has none, and knows that Dimitri has said something far more convincing than his Father would ever consider coming from him, so he waits for the outcome, hoping that his father does not mention the anxious pounding of his heart that his Alpha ears can undoubtedly pick up on.

Rodrigue’s voice is soft and sad and hurts Felix far more than he could have ever imagined. 

“Three months. Three months you have been gone. I searched for you since the passing of the first. I never dreamed you would be there.” 

Rodrigue sits, and gestures to Felix to do the same. 

“Why did you go? Is it truly as the Prince said? Did you think that I did not care for you? That I would not do everything in my power to bring you back?” 

The four questions are a lot for Felix to process at once. He takes his time, trying to think about the easiest way to answer all of them with as few words as possible. He didn’t trust his emotions. He didn’t trust anything at the moment.

“It’s as he said. I was compelled to go to him. Even when I knew you would bring me back.” 

He studies his father’s eyes as he says it. There is no flash of anger as he expected. There is a warmth there, underneath the cold exterior. He’d avoided him too much in the past to see it. Had Felix ever truly known him? 

Rodrigue sighs—the longest, most admissive, sound Felix has ever heard from him. He brings a hand to his temple and leans forward over his desk.

“I did not foresee that your bond would be so strong. However, you have deeply violated my trust. It’s difficult for me to know how to keep you safe when you so easily slipped away, and my duties demand that I am gone from the Fraldarius territory too much of the time. The Tragedy of Duscur has landed the Kingdom in complete disarray. Until Prince Dimitri ascends the throne, my diplomacy is needed now more than ever.”

Felix nods, not wanting to recall the incident that took his brother’s life. Glenn’s portrait still hangs high on the wall behind Rodrigue’s head, haunting him whenever he’s brought inside for these little talks. 

“The only thing I can think of at the moment is to send you along with Dimitri wherever he goes until the time comes for you to become bonded. There will need to be some caution, seeing as he’s fully presented and solitary time with you could send you into an early heat if he were to rut, so I will only permit you to visit with him when I am also there in Fhirdiad. You are to attend Garreg Mach Monastery alongside him after he has adjusted and we are able to clear things up enough politically within the Kingdom. Until then, you will spend the times that I am not at the estate or Fhirdiad either on Gautier or Galatea grounds. I will assign guards to you that will ensure your obedience on this matter.” 

Felix does not remove his gaze from Glenn’s portrait the entire time his father passes the sentence. His brother did not smile for it, his long hair, blue eyes, and expressions so like his father, in life and in death. He grunts his affirmation at Rodrigue’s strange decision, the knots in his stomach stretching upward into his heart. 

Regardless of what he or his father could have done, Glenn did not return to them. Regardless of what he or his father could do now, Felix will not return to the Fraldarius manor once he’s graduated Garreg Mach Monastery and experienced the coming of his 18th year.

Even the prospect of seeing Ingrid and Sylvain is not enough to lighten his sentence. Not the sentence of a father who struggles to control his fear of losing the last living member of his family, but the sentence of a brand in the small, sharp, collection of lines that drew Felix to his death before the breath of life first broke beyond his lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am on [twitter](http://twitter.com/thefriedpipes)! Come talk more about fe3h with me 🤗


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW in this chapter for slight sexual content, including non graphic masturbation and the mention of intersex genitalia. It occurs toward the beginning of a flashback in italics.

“You win again, Felix.”

Ingrid sighs as Felix removes the tip of his sword from where it pointed at her nose before she conceded. It was his fourth victory in a row. In the past year and a half his father had sent him to the Galatea and Gautier estates about a dozen times. At this point he hardly remembered what it was like to sleep in his own room. 

That suited Felix just fine, because without being under Rodrigue’s watchful eye he was able to train every day as long as he pleased. 

At first, Ingrid and Sylvain had been supportive, albeit a bit surprised, at his determination to become stronger. They soon realized just how serious he was when he’d lose hours to his discipline, awakening to their concerned voices as if he’d never noticed they were there. He’d often fall into the habit he’d developed from his days as a squire and miss mealtimes. Ingrid, in particular, was scandalized at that. 

“I know the food here isn’t the best, but you still need to eat. Especially with all that training! You’re going to make yourself sick.” 

Felix wasn’t worried about that. He was worried about being prepared for what was to come. They were only a few months away from attending Garreg Mach Monastery and he needed to catch up for all the years he wasn’t allowed to even _hold_ a sword.

He sparred with both his friends as often as he could, sometimes with his gauntlets or a bow, but usually with a sword. He liked that he was technically at a disadvantage in the close range. It forced him to think on his feet. 

Spears were still his least favorite choice. Just touching them brought back memories of being entrapped on the ice, the deadly calm concentration of power aligning him to a weapon that shouldn’t have been besotted into the hands of a child.

Yet, he couldn’t fear that power. It was his purpose to embrace it. That’s why he was doing this. Each dawn he arose, Felix searched for some nameless something that called to him in every swing of his sword. He never got an answer, but he craved the feeling. It was intoxicating to approach the edge of his instincts, to work his way toward the weapon becoming an extension of his arm.

He helps Ingrid up from the ground and leaves her to dust off, panting from exertion, as he is. Sylvain claps a hand on both of their shoulders—grinning as usual while congratulating them. It almost knocks away the little breath Felix has left. Ingrid actually chokes as she stumbles.

Felix narrows his eyes and pulls Sylvain’s hand off him. “You’re strong. Why do you hold back when we spar?” 

Sylvain retreats casually, hands behind his head in an innocent gesture. “Ahh, I’m not sure about that. I’ve got those Gautier genes, but I’m not actually all that good at fighting when it comes down to it.” He laughs, gazing off into the distance with a fond look in his eyes. “Besides, I’d much rather spend my time talking to a pretty girl. I bet there’s going to be so many of them at the Monastery...” 

Ingrid and Felix groan in unison.

“Sylvain, you’d better not get any wise ideas. We’re not going there to goof off. You need to take your combat training more seriously. You have a huge responsibility as head of house Gautier to protect the border!”

It’s a rare moment where Felix couldn’t agree with Ingrid more. Her skill for lecturing had become just as sharp as her skill with the lance in the past few years, and it was always spot on when she pointed it directly at the redhead’s lazy throat. 

Sylvain raises his hands in defeat. “Alright, alright. I get it. Still, it can’t hurt to talk to them every once in a while..besides, we’ll have Dimitri there to train with. He’ll push us hard enough, I’m sure.

The three friends fall silent. Nobody but Felix had seen him since the Tragedy of Duscur. It was something they tried not to bring up when they were all together. Usually it was Sylvain who slipped on the unspoken taboo.

Felix blinks and his breathing slows. His mind goes hazy from the effort of restraining the memories of Dimitri he’s uncomfortable sharing even with his closest friends. Sylvain is looking at him apologetically, so his face must be giving away some level of discomfort. 

“I’m fine.” He chokes out, though nobody had asked. Ingrid’s brows are furrowed as she sets her spear against a nearby pillar. Felix still clenches his sword in his hand, the tip pointing down to hang but a foot above the ground. 

Ingrid leans against the pillar side by side with the spear, her legs and arms crossed in concern. “Felix..will he be able to make it? There’s been hardly any news about his Highness since the announcement four years ago...” 

Felix grits his teeth. _I don’t want to talk about this...why does she always ask?_ “I don’t know. My father seems to think so.”

Sylvain remains quiet, having shifted closer to his side. Felix would rather break his sword in half over his knee than admit what the proximity of his scent was doing to him. Even as a late bloomer, Sylvain was releasing a protective and calming scent. Felix didn’t know if he was aware of it—he himself had only recently discovered his instincts sharpening, preparing for the year ahead of him when he was meant to present.

 _It’ll be at the Monastery of all places..._ He sighs. He’d hoped to have a more private place to experience his first heat. 

“I know you don’t like to talk about it..but I’m worried. You’re the only one of us who has seen him. Is our Prince..our friend, Dimitri, okay?”

Now Felix wishes he’d never praised Ingrid on her lecturing, even in his mind. He’d turned the attention of her words on himself. Glimpses of the Dimitri he’s known over the years and how he’d changed slip through the cracks he’d hardly had the time to glue together. The sweating he can pass off as exertion from their training, but the trembling he feels building in his hands, and the fear and the anger blooming in his chest, require a different explanation. 

“No.”

His lips are so tight, the word is hardly audible, but it rips across the silence like a command. The wind around them whistles afterward, ominously. Felix turns from them, walking in the direction where he knows there is a small cover of trees nearby. 

Ingrid and Sylvain watch him, unsure if he’ll actually keep going. Ingrid stands to follow, but Sylvain grabs her shoulder again, taking care to be more gentle this time.

“I’m on it.”

His smile to her is fake, but it’s one of his best, and Ingrid hasn’t picked up on it yet. He’s not certain if anyone other than Felix ever will.

Felix leans his head against a tree, willing himself not to delve deep into the images that encircle his mind every night as he struggles to sleep. He hears footsteps, and knows it’s Sylvain approaching him. He’s memorized the heaviness of them, even in his casual clothes. 

“Hey.” Sylvain greets him, standing a reasonable distance away. Felix does not return the greeting or turn to acknowledge him. Sylvain can wait. He’s done so many times before. 

The silence that envelops them for the next few minutes is comforting. Sylvain can be surprisingly quiet when the time calls for it. Felix likes it best when he shows he’s capable of shutting up, but never gets to truly enjoy it as it’s always under circumstances like this. 

“I don’t want to talk about him.” Felix finally mumbles into the tree. 

“I know. We won’t.” Sylvain agrees softly. He waits a minute more, until Felix’s shoulders sag a little and he lifts his forehead from it’s resting place among the scratchy bark. 

When Felix turns to him, he prepares his anger, expecting to meet an expression of pity. Instead, Sylvain’s smile is sad and honest, and it nearly knocks the breath out of him again.

They are in the same forest, nearly two years now prior, when Felix departed under the stealth of the moon. This time, the sun is filtering through the leaves and bouncing off the red waves of Sylvain’s messy hair and Felix doesn’t need to strain his eyes to see every detail of it. 

He closes his lids and leans back against the tree, trying to gather his wits. When he opens them, Sylvain is still standing there, waiting for Felix to orchestrate the meeting, as patient as Felix’s impatience calls for. 

Felix slides to the ground, hands resting on knees, slightly parted.

“You can come over here. It’s annoying when you’re just standing there, staring.” 

A small chuckle increases in volume as Sylvain slinks down beside him. He always takes Felix’s invitations a little further than they suggest, pushing over the line to see just how far he can take it. Felix hates what it does to him, that there are things only Sylvain seems to be able to get away with.

Sylvain watches the swaying of the leaves, variations of green fading to yellow and orange and red. Soon they will all whither and fall to the ground as the weather turns its coldest, but for now, they maintain their position, shading them with just the right amount of cover so they need not fear hurting their eyes when they stare upward at the sun. 

“I’m glad we’re going together, you know, to the Monastery.” Sylvain says, voice cheery as always, even without eye contact or a smile. “I’ve gotten used to being around you. I don’t know how I’d cope without seeing that scowl across the table while we’re eating breakfast.

Felix scoffs, trying not to feel his pulse pick up at Sylvain’s simple words. “You’ll have to cope eventually. It’s only a year and then I’ll be locked away in Fhirdiad and you’ll be here fighting men who had the misfortune to be born on the other side of the mountain—all for nothing.”

Sylvain frowns, and lowers his head, trying to catch Felix’s eyes. “You really think that, Fe? That we’ll never see each other again?”

Felix looks vehemently ahead, only catching a blur of red in his peripherals.

“I don’t know. It’s pointless to think about a future when we are who we were born as. You were born to be a weapon for the sake of Faerghus’s independence. I was born to be a Queen, whether I want to or not.”

Sylvain sighs sadly, then waits a beat before he continues. “So, you still don’t want to, huh?”

Felix finally turns to him as he says it. Sylvain is staring down at his knees, hands loosely threaded in the dirt. It’s like he was still that child, gathering the earth around him while Felix swung from the giant Gautier tree, hands sticky with jam and heart full of dreams that will never come to pass. Instead of relieving boredom, the two were now plagued with resignation at their duties that no one else had the ability to fill.

“Of course I don’t. I never had any say in the matter. Same as you.”

Sylvain’s chuckle is dark and bitter this time when it comes. Felix has heard it before. He’s seen this side of Sylvain that no one else knows exists—the side of his struggles with self worth, and how it manifests in his carelessness. It is more comforting than the mask he wears when he ignores his own problems in favor of another’s. It makes Felix feel more human that there is a darkness there in his friend that he loves as well. 

“We never had a choice? What a joke. Even now, as we’re practically adults...bound to whatever fate’s already been chosen for us.”

His eyes pierce through Felix, a hungry curiosity settled there. “What would you do, Felix? If you could?” 

Sylvain’s words have a rare weight to his tone. He assumes Sylvain is thinking about his crest, something out of his control that has always bothered him, that had somehow earned him the years of abuse at his brother’s hand. Yet, there is an additional layer to his pain that Felix has never seen. It causes Felix to fall into a reflection of his own. 

“I’d be free...if I’d been born with no soulmate at all. That’s what I’d change.” 

Sylvain doesn’t look shocked, and for that, Felix is grateful. He’d never been able to admit it out loud before. It’s like opening a festering wound and draining the pus out. He feels immediate relief just from being able to say it. 

“I get it. We should be able to choose who we love because we love them, not because of some mark or a crest or status.” Sylvain’s smile is blinding when he flashes it at Felix and his heart pounds against his chest at the sincerity of it. 

_I’d never be able to choose you, Sylvain...even if you wanted to me to._

It is a thought that is both foolish and unrealistic. Sylvain would never care for him in that way, even if Felix was an Omega. He’d shown no interest in anything other than women. He actually avoided addressing dynamics as much as he avoided crests, so Felix assumes he feels the same way about them. 

Good. It was easier that way. If only everyone stopped putting so much stock into things they could not change, that which they could change would become reality. 

Felix’s throat is dry as he pushes those dangerous thoughts away with the habitual insults that have safely come to be a familiar foundation to their friendship. 

“Precisely my point. Glad you’re able to pay attention to something other than what interests your dick.”

Sylvain’s wince rolls into a crooked laugh. “Hey, hey! Give a guy more credit, will ya? I do care about more than I let on.” He leans in toward Felix’s shoulder, knocking their heads lightly together as his hand brushes his thigh. “I care about you, Felix. No matter what happens, I won’t let you be alone.”

Felix’s thigh tingles with a warmth that’s spreading to places he refuses to think about. He should pull away, he knows he should, but he refrains from doing so for a few seconds, allowing himself to stop thinking in favor of just experiencing the feeling. When it all becomes too much, he shifts, standing suddenly and causing Sylvain to tip slightly over in confusion. 

“We’ve known each other long enough that I wouldn’t doubt something like that. Let’s head back before Ingrid yells at us for missing another meal.” 

Sylvain hops up and falls into a healthy stride at his side, comfortable silence enveloping them once more. Felix steals glances at him the entire way back, unable to figure out how to process the knowledge that Sylvain’s hand on his thigh brought him more happiness in seconds than seventeen years of his soulmate’s enduring devotion. 

* * *

  
He’s not sure if it’s a nightmare or a memory, but that night Felix finds himself hunched over by the foot of the bed, shivering in trepidation. The scene that flashed before him was so real it was as if he was reliving it, even though he was far away from Fhirdiad and there was no way Dimitri was here now. 

_Felix sinks down low in the bath. The light perfume of oils and soap have a physical effect of calming his nerves. His hair fans out behind him like the wings of a raven, and his mind likewise takes flight, flitting from one branch of thought to another. His 16th year arrives tomorrow and he will spend it here with Dimitri in Fhirdiad. Dimitri had already experienced a second rut, just weeks before he and his father arrived, and his emotional state was still too shaken to greet them._

_This is his second visit with the Prince, and it is already better than the first, mostly because they have not met face to face on their own yet. His father never strays far, somehow convinced that they will engage in premature coupling. He scoffs at the thought. He hardly touches himself. Even when aroused, he’s usually able to ignore it. He doesn’t want to think about what Dimitri does in his ruts though he’ll soon find out.._

_Perhaps he should prepare himself more for sexual contact with the future King. He doesn’t like the prospect of it, but can he trust Dimitri like he used to, when his soul was gentle, and caring for Felix came naturally to him?_

_He hesitates, then slowly begins exploring his body, just small strokes, sticking to more innocent places at first. It feels nice, under all the soft, warm, pleasant smelling water. His hands drift downward, hesitating at the black curls that have only recently made their appearance._

_What should he think of? He doesn’t really consider things as sexual. The few kisses he shared with Dimitri in their youth were merely clumsy attempts at expressing gratitude for his company._

_His contact is indecisive and slow, but it gets him going eventually, soft sighing filling the air as he focuses on the feeling, nothing truly in his mind to rely on. Once he falls more comfortably into the repetitive action, his mind begins to wander again._

_It felt nice, sure. A bit of a surprise each time he revisits it, since he’s forgotten what feels good and has to remind himself. Yet, what was the point of getting used to this when his anatomy was going to change..? He’d learned about it years ago and tried not to think of the pain. He’d have to learn again with Dimitri, there’s no one who could actually ask about how to prepare..he’d rather die._

_Ingrid was born with those parts, and she’d no doubt give him a very physician-like explanation, but there’s no way he’d actually seek her out for one of her lectures, especially one as intimate as that. Sylvain…well, he’s probably very familiar with that anatomy by now, with how unashamedly he talks about his experiences with women. Felix flushes, and feels a stirring at the thought of his friend. It unsettles him. Why would thinking about talking to Sylvain about sex turn him on? He hated when Sylvain talked about those kind of things! But..in that scenario he was talking about other people, not to Felix about himself, about how he lays with the body he was soon to have.._

_Felix peers down with a grimace, willing himself to breathe and stop what he’s doing. He’s no longer comfortable with being so close to release while his thoughts are full of Sylvain. He can’t afford it. No matter his feelings, nothing was ever going to happen. Feelings like that belong in the past._

_He finishes washing himself and waits until the arousal passes before he gets out. He dries himself and dresses again, brushing through his hair. He’d forgotten a tie, but that’s fine. He won’t catch chill as long as he returns to his room right away._

_The halls are dark. Everyone but the guards have since retired to bed. Felix holds a lone candle out, shivering in his thin underclothes. He wasn’t prepared for it to be this cold; he didn’t mean to stay so late. Damn that stupid redhead that occupied his thoughts.._

_He nearly bumps into a shadow in front of him because his head is drawn down in a scowl. He hears pained murmurs that cause him to stop. Felix raises the candle to reveal Dimitri, slumped back against the wall. Sweat decorates his brow and the dark circles under his eyes are visible even in the dim light. His lids are closed, mouth drawn in a grimace. Dimitri doesn’t react in the slightest to Felix’s presence._

_Felix hasn’t seen him in many months, but he never looked this poorly then. There is a spike of concern for his soulmate that he knows will flash across his mark and be felt. He reaches forward, intending to announce himself before he asks Dimitri if he needs help, but Dimitri’s eyes snap open, staring into Felix’s face as if it were a pervading nothingness, pupils wide with sorrow and fear._

_“Why have you come tonight? Is it your turn to haunt me now, like the rest?”_

_Felix’s voice sticks, struck dumb at the twitching brokenness of his soulmate before him. Dimitri wrings his hands, then bends over at the waist as if he’s going to be sick. Felix bends with him, intent on catching him, at the very least, if he were to fall._

_Dimitri pants, and shakes his head back and forth, growling. It is a very different growl than Felix heard in the forest—a low, heartbreaking, admission of pain. He doesn’t know what to do about it. He doesn’t know how to help._

_“‘Mitri.” He whispers. “What’s going on?”_

_Dimitri straightens and turns to him at the sound of his childhood nickname. He grabs Felix’s shoulder with a pronounced strength that causes Felix to swallow a cry of pain. His jaw is slack, moaning unintelligibly until he finally lifts his face._

_“He hates me, Glenn. I…I do not blame him. I almost killed him..with my own hands.”  
_

_Dimitri’s voice breaks into a terrible sob, tears flowing down his face, eyes still clouded with the shroud of the dead. “I wish you were here for him. Felix needs you…I…I should have died instead!”_

_Felix’s heart plummets deep into his stomach. He feels his mind disconnect from his body while Dimitri continues to sob with cries loud enough to stir the castle, his eyes unseeing as he crushes Felix’s body to him. Without thinking, Felix brings his arms up to rest upon his soulmate’s back. He stands, locked into the embrace, numbness spreading throughout his blood like a chill, until Rodrigue finds them and is able to coax Dimitri’s fingers from the death grip he’s tangled into Felix’s loosened hair._

Felix’s hands drift upward, stroking absentmindedly at the same loose locks that frame his current face. _He’s okay, everything’s okay now._ He repeats the mantra in his mind that he distantly knows is a lie until he’s somewhat grounded again. He’s wide awake now and the thoughts will not stay silent for long.

His feet move of their own accord, rousing him from his position locked around his knees and carrying him to the most familiar room in the household. He knocks—once—with fists that have all the presence of a ghost.

A mussy mop of red hair peeks its way through the crack in the door when it’s opened. “Felix?” Sylvain’s sleepy eyes struggle to focus on him. “You okay?”

Felix shakes his head, unsure of what to say as he’s unsure of how to feel. Sylvain opens the door completely, stepping back and to the side in a tame invitation. Felix trembles momentarily, then crosses the threshold. 

Sylvain closes the door behind him, then walks a small distance, watching him—waiting, just as he did earlier that day.

Felix manages to follow him, and they stand by the window, where moonlight peeks through the curtains, heavy as they are. _It must be full..._ Just as he is, and just as Dimitri. What a strange concept it is, to hang heavy with lightness. Strange as one’s soul empties, entrenched in darkness and in grief.

“He thought I was Glenn..”

Felix’s lips move without his direction. The admission burns more than any curse that has fallen from them in his fury. 

In Sylvain’s sleepy state it takes a moment before the words sink into sense. Felix, himself, is still adjusting to them. His gaze is melancholic as Sylvain stiffens beside him, then relaxes, allowing the shock to pass through him without taking hold. 

The burn of admission moves north, prickling in the corners of Felix’s somber eyes.

“What kind of person mistakes their own soulmate for his dead brother?”

“Fe..”

Sylvain steps closer to him, his usual clumsy movements somehow soft and graceful under the serene glow. He holds out his arms, his wide, open chest more vulnerable than any of his dishonest smiles. 

Felix holds his breath at the sight. The memory of Dimitri’s bruising constriction beats at the forefront of his skull and causes his ribs to physically ache. He doesn’t blame Dimitri and he knows this isn’t the same, but…

 _..but this is different,_ he tells himself. It is. _Sylvain is strong, but he wouldn’t..he can’t.._

The amount of time Felix takes in his hesitation is considerable enough that Sylvain begins to falter, his sternum lowering, arms beginning to shake as a flush of embarrassment and perhaps disappointment brushes his cheeks. Felix stops his regression, placing a palm on the spot where his heart began to draw inward, and steps into the embrace. 

His body feels like it is on fire, but it is pleasant. The flames licking his skin remind him of the full, effervescent sensation in his bath at Fhirdiad before he gave in to the anger and the sorrow and the shame. How long has it been since he allowed someone to hold him like this? Has he ever? Will he ever again? 

“There we go, Lix.”

Sylvain’s hair tickles his forehead as Felix presses himself more firmly against the warm body. His face comes to rest in the crook of his friend’s neck. Sylvain brings a large hand up to support the back of his head.

Felix makes a noise that is somewhere between a laugh and a sob—an ugly strangled sound that Sylvain wisely does not comment on. He doesn’t think he could cling any tighter to the man if he tried, but his fingers still curl into the fabric of his shirt and do not settle, even once, in the minutes following where all he can do is attempt to match the pattern of Sylvain’s steady breathing. 

When his shoulders finally begin to release enough tension that he can move them again, he looks up warily at Sylvain. His eyes are closed, smile so small Felix might have missed it were it not so close to his own. Felix feels hot desire settling into his gut as sensations return with clarity, and he notices every inch of his body pressed up against the furnace of his closest friend.

He releases the fists of fabric that pulled Sylvain’s shirt up, causing him to open his eyes and catch the younger’s labored gaze. Felix continues to burn against him, internally wondering why his knees feel so weak that he cannot come up with the ability to walk away. 

“That’s it. Felix’s back.” 

Sylvain shifts slightly, allowing room between them, but does not release his hold on Felix’s head, nor the hand that had found its way to settle on the small of his back. 

A moment’s pause, and Felix can’t take it anymore. He thunks his head hard against Sylvain’s chest and groans, desperately hoping he can’t feel the blush. “Sorry.. Shouldn’t have woken you up.”

Sylvain’s chest rumbles with something unidentifiable. A laugh, perhaps, that died before it lived, smothered in the coals between their uninhibited shape. 

“Don’t worry about it, Fe. You can’t sleep?”

“No.” He admits. He hears the pounding of Sylvain’s heart in his ears. He curses his mind for pretending that it’s for him, that any shred of affection to be found in Sylvain’s voice could be more than merely respectable concern for the wellbeing of a friend. 

Sylvain pulls away. Thank the Goddess that one of them was able to. Yet then, he grabs Felix’s hand, leading him to his bed—the covers on his side already peeled back, as if they were prepared to welcome him. 

Sylvain slips underneath them easily, and turns to tug the other side even further down. “Come to bed, Fe. I’ll stay up with you until you can sleep.” 

Felix hesitates again. “Sylvain..”

“ _Felix_.”

Sylvain’s tone leaves little room for argument. Felix feels weak, unable to meet his eyes, ignoring the burn of his body, aching for sleep, to forget reality for a mere few hours. Just a few hours—he could arise with the dawn and slip away before Sylvain noticed. 

“Fine. Scoot over.” 

Sylvain laughs, wiggling his ass at nothing but air. “I’m already at the edge of the bed.” 

Felix grumbles, but complies, slowly easing his body into a comfortable position on his side. Sylvain comes up closer behind him, a hand draped over to rest on his stomach as he pulls himself to line up with Felix’s body once more. 

Felix ignores the hot breath in his ear. It won’t get to him. This is no different from when they were kids, except that Sylvain’s bed is so much damn smaller now and his cock twitches dangerously close to where Sylvain’s fingers could reach down to find it. 

“You need a new bed. It’s too damn cramped in here.”

He doesn’t dare move, not a muscle. Sylvain’s scent—the scent of pine needles and orange peels—is so potent he can taste it. He hardly breathes enough to finish the sentence, praying for his erection to go away and for Sylvain to fall asleep, preferably at the same time.

Sylvain laughs again. The vibration does things to him Felix doesn’t want to admit. “Nah, it’s just big enough for us to sleep like this. We did it all the time as kids, remember?”

“I remember.” Felix’s throat constricts. He hopes it’s not audible. “We aren’t kids, though. Go to bed.” 

Sylvain snorts and the force of it causes his hand to dip lower. _Goddess no, no stop it right there._

“So harsh, Fe! You used to love cuddling me. We stayed up late like this talking all the time.”

It takes every bit of willpower Felix has to remain still. It would be so easy to change this situation. There were so many different ways he could. He could turn his face and catch Sylvain’s lips, hanging over his neck so enticingly. He could arch his back, moving his heat against the heat that envelops him, grab Sylvain’s hand and drag it downward even more, only a few inches and he would know exactly how he felt about him. 

He doesn’t. Felix’s body remains very still, only carefully, woodenly, raising a hand to touch Sylvain’s shoulder where it hovers over his.

“There’s nothing to talk about tonight. We both need to sleep.”

Sylvain settles down behind him. Felix takes the opportunity to curl up even tighter as he brings his hand back.

”You’re right.” He says. Felix hears the disappointment in his voice and hates that he caused it. “Not tonight. Goodnight, Felix.” 

Sylvain falls asleep before Felix does, but his sleep does come. It is smooth, dreamless, and lighter than he’s had in weeks. When he awakens, the desire is gone, as well as it’s target, and the memory of a haunted Dimitri wandering the narrow halls of his castle in Fhirdiad is very, very, far away. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Felix strikes me as someone who’d be on the Ace spectrum tbh. Also PTSD can really mess with romantic and sexual urges, so even though he’s capable of experiencing those feelings it’s difficult for him to sort them out right now.


	5. Chapter 5

Dimitri adjusts his cape in the mirror, willing himself not to look at the bloody figure leaning over his shoulder. The eyeless, soulless corpse does not breathe hot reminders of guilt in the junction of his neck as it does some days, nor does he hear the croaking commands for revenge. Today is one of the better days. It is still his first week at Garreg Mach and he has many important things to learn that demand his focus.

He is not yet ready to become King. Still, he is expected to be a leader even now, for the Blue Lions class, one of the three at the Monastery. Another responsibility to bear. Another duty to carry. 

Carry it he can, and carry it he will. He was blessed by the Goddess with the strength and conviction to do so. It is his honor to serve and protect his people. He must lead his Kingdom into an era of prosperity.

_I don’t deserve a second chance._

Dimitri’s fingers tremble on the clasp. It had been closed and well adjusted for minutes now, but he didn’t notice until the harsh thought snapped him away from his mindless activity. His eyes are wide in the mirror, circles mercifully not as deep and dark underneath as they had been in the first few years following the tragedy. Four years now. Another year and he was told he’d be fit to rule. Would he be able to do so, with their voices whispering to him? With how Felix must despise him—a mad King with a disconsolate Queen by his side? 

A knock on his door. Glenn is no longer lingering behind him. It is not the beckoning of the dead.

“Your Highness. Class will soon begin.” 

_Dedue_. Ah, yes. He’s come to fetch him. The new Professor Lady Rhea assigned had selected their class. He must not be late to their lectures; it is a rare opportunity to experience an education from someone who is so seasoned and skilled on the battlefield. 

Dimitri grabs his supplies and opens the door with no further consternation. “Thank you, Dedue. I apologize for my lateness. I’m afraid I failed to accurately measure my time.”

“It is not a problem, your Highness. We will still make it if we leave now.” 

Dimitri smiles at his vassal and feels a slight lifting of his spirits at his gentle patience. He falls in with the Duscur man’s long strides as they make for the courtyard with haste.

Luckily, their new Professor has not begun yet. She is still preparing her notes and transferring them to the board when they enter. Students are randomly filing into the room, their movements not yet steady with the familiarity of the routine. Dimitri scans the small crowd for a glimpse of a familiar face, and spots Ingrid, unsurprisingly, seated at the front. 

Sylvain, on the other hand, is a surprise to see sitting two seats away from her in the same front row. He overhears an argument brewing as he approaches. Apparently, even Sylvain’s distance hasn’t deterred her from her own lecture.

“Why do you insist on sitting here if you’re just going to slack off, Sylvain..? Don’t think I haven’t noticed you staring at the Professor. She’s not someone you can come on to, so knock that into your head before you get it knocked off!”

“Yeah but getting to see those tights up close..it’s well worth the effort.” Sylvain’s eyes glaze over with something Dimitri certainly doesn’t want to ask about.

Ingrid throws a pen at him. As usual, her aim is right on target and it bounces off the center of Sylvain’s forehead.

“I can’t believe you’re already so crass about the staff here. She’s your Professor. Show some respect! 

Sylvain rubs at the spot, a slight glare in his brown eyes. “Hey! Come on now..it was a joke! You should know me better than that. I’m just saying—she looks really young. She can’t be much older than us. It doesn’t hurt anyone if I’m just admiring the beauty that’s before me. That’s me showing I have good taste and minding my manners..”

Dimitri clears his throat as Ingrid reaches over and smacks Sylvain over the head with one of her lighter books. 

“Ow! Ingrid..you’re too harsh—Oh! Hey, Dimi..uh, I mean your Highness! I’m so glad to finally see you’re here.”

Dimitri gives his greetings with a small smile as he studies the changes in his friends that he’s missed out on seeing for far too long.

Sylvain has continued the trend of being taller than the rest of them, though Dimitri’s sudden Alpha presentation and years of the accelerated growth has put him only a few inches behind. His face is still as coquettish as his behavior, messy red hair framing it in the same languid way he’s spread out at his desk, legs bowed and back reclined in a manner that was obviously far too sloppy for Ingrid’s liking. 

Ingrid huffs at Sylvain’s casual acknowledgement of the Prince. Dimitri notes that she has also remained much of the same, growing only a little taller and curvier, though her long, golden hair has grown out considerably and the braid she wears it in compliments her natural beauty. She bows deeply, startling a bit when Dimitri raises her with his hands on her shoulders telling her it is unnecessary to address him in such a manner. Her eyes fall upon Dedue, who has silently and politely remained a few feet behind Dimitri during their reunion.

“Your Highness..why is there a man of Duscur so close behind you?” Her eyes narrow in an expression that Dimitri does not appreciate in the slightest. 

He steps back, offering Dedue his protection. His lips tighten.

“Dedue is my vassal. I have insisted he remain by my side during my stay at the Monastery. I expect you all to welcome him with kindness and treat him with the same respect you would any man I have taken into my service.”

“Your Highness. It is unnecessary for you to show anger on my behalf. Your friends are right to mistrust a man of Duscur. I will not begrudge them or stand in their way.”

Dimitri cuts through the atmosphere with a tone that is sharp as a blade smelted with wootz steel. “You are also my friend, Dedue. Anyone who knows me must abide by that truth.”

Dedue nods. The tension remains palpable as Dimitri allows his eyes to wander, trying to reel in his anger. Ingrid is a Beta, as well as Dedue, and Sylvain has somehow still not yet presented but they don’t need heightened instincts to know how upset he is. 

He feels a certain incomplete factor to their trio without Felix here, though the situation is already somewhat hostile. His scan of the rapidly filling room comes up empty, but his mark tells him that Felix is nearby. 

“Where is Felix..? I have not seen him since our arrival.” 

His heart twinges in a sad agreement. Dimitri ignores it. Felix is allowed his privacy. It is the least Dimitri can do for him after everything that has happened. 

Ingrid and Sylvain blink in surprise. Sylvain scratches his head. “Uhh I’m not sure, honestly. He was training earlier, but he said he’d come to class. I thought he’d be coming with you—” 

Ingrid coughs loudly, cutting him off, but the flash of pain comes before anyone can stop it. Dimitri sighs softly, and seats himself in between Ingrid and Sylvain when Byleth raps at her own desk for attention. He turns his attention on her, trying not to allow his thoughts to muddy with self deprecation. She really is alluring. He sees what Sylvain is talking about.

He’s able to grasp on to a blooming desire to spar with her later and anchors himself to the feeling. It allows him to concentrate on the tactics she’s explaining as the aching burn of the crest of Fraldarius soothes itself into a mild itch.

Felix slips in shortly after she’s moved on to battalion formations and stands at the back for the remainder of the lesson. When the group meets up with him afterward, his gaze is so impassive Dimitri cannot tell what he’s thinking, but the twinges in his wrist speak enough for him to make a conclusion.

Felix is still afraid of him.

Dimitri tries to relax as they all eat lunch together in the Dining Hall. Felix sits across from him, turned away to his side, grumbling about the proximity of Sylvain as the ginger slings his shoulder over him trying to convince Felix to go into town later. Ingrid scarfs down the special dish of the day to his right, something that doesn’t smell particularly appetizing to Dimitri with all of its foreign spices. 

“C’mon Felix! There’s a whole world of girls out there that we don’t even know the half about until we see. I’ll buy you some of your favorite spicy candies if you go. Ladies feel more comfortable when they see two guys hanging out together having a good time.” 

Felix glares at him and ducks out from under his arm. “Find someone else, you lecher. I’m not pretending to have a good time with you so you can attempt to shack up with your maiden of the week. At least have the decency to act like you’ll change into a more respectable person when you’re in public.”

Sylvain frowns and even Ingrid stops her shoveling to raise an eyebrow at Felix. He’d always been testy with Sylvain whenever Sylvain bothered him about women, but his words had a rougher edge to them today. Dimitri’s eyes lock with him and he feels Felix’s heart jump in response. Felix exhales a half assed attempt at an apology and excuses himself, his food untouched. 

Dimitri grabs it and pushes the plate toward Ingrid. It wouldn’t do to waste when so much of the Kingdom was in need. He excuses himself as well and heads off in the direction of his soulmate. Felix’s strange behavior was worrying him. For once, his own chaotic emotions seemed quelled in comparison to his future Queen. 

Dimitri catches him on his way back to the second floor dorms.

“Felix.” 

Felix slows, but does not stop walking. He doesn’t turn around.

“What do you want?”

“I was hoping..that perhaps we could have tea together later.”

Felix makes a displeased noise and turns to scowl at him.

“Waste of my time. I’m too busy training.” 

Dimitri feels a unusual desperation take over him and grasps his hand suddenly. Felix freezes, but does not demand anything or give an indication he should stop. 

“Please, Felix. I really wish to spend some time with you. It will only be a short while.” 

Felix restrains a shiver that Dimitri feels, regardless. 

“Fine. It will be on my time, though. I’ll find you when I’m ready.”

Dimitri kisses the back of his hand, allowing his grateful adoration to flow between them.

“I thank you, my Queen.” 

Felix turns without a response, leaving perhaps a little slower than his usual pace. Dimitri is drawn into a clashing storm of emotions, the center of which is difficult to pinpoint. He could not confidently say which soul it originated from.

* * *

Dimitri assumes Felix will head back to the grounds to train and doesn’t want his presence to unnerve him to the point that he cancels their teatime, so he heads to the Library. His Professor said something particularly intriguing earlier about archer formations that he intended to follow up on. 

It takes him a while to find the exact book he wanted. He was no stranger to such a large collection—their own library in Fhirdiad rivaled the extension—but the sheer variance in selection was so fascinating he got distracted in making notes of which texts he would visit later.

He must have spent the greater part of the afternoon settling in, but he was not particularly worried about being on time. Felix would be able to find him practically anywhere, their soulbond ensured it.

He sits, skimming until he finds something that vaguely resembles his notes from the lecture. His concentration is still lacking somewhat. He feels antsy, unable to release the pooling energy. Hopefully Felix will have finished his training before their meeting and he could get in his own session before bed. He sighs, then nearly jumps when he hears an unfamiliar voice surprisingly close behind him.

“Ah! That’s the book I was looking for. Too bad...any way I could bother you for a minute so you could share the contents with me?”

There is a tanned hand resting casually less than a foot to his own pale left. Dimitri looks up to find inquisitive green eyes and a head of messy brown hair. The stranger’s face is tilted forward, close to Dimitri’s shoulder, as he attempts to read the page Dimitri has open. A braid hangs uncomfortably close to brushing against his ear.

Dimitri feels a little warm at how comfortable and confident the man seems in his proximity. He racks his brain as to why they seem so familiar. He feels it is important he should know this person.. _Oh!_

“Claude—your name is Claude von Riegan, is that correct?”

Claude chuckles, hot breath filling the air around Dimitri, and moves his eyes from the page to meet the Prince’s own. There is something about those eyes that immediately strike Dimitri, not just in that they are striking, incredibly so, but that there is a superficial quality to them.

They remind him of his own. A mask for something deeper inside he’s loath to display to the world.

“That’s me! Recently announced heir to House Riegan of the Leicester Alliance. I suppose you’ve heard that I’m also the house leader of the Golden Deer this year.”

Dimitri had heard that. He had not met with the other house leaders yet, because he was already quite familiar with Edelgard, and settling into the Monastery had taken more of a toll on his emotional state than he’d foreseen.

“Yes, I have. I apologize for not meeting with you sooner and extending my hospitality. And now it appears as if I’ve taken something you’ve been searching for. Please forgive me.” 

Claude has not moved from his spot the entire time they’ve exchanged greetings. Dimitri doesn’t know why, but it makes his heart begin to pound just a little faster. He can smell Alpha pheromones this close up to him, but they are subdued. He must have recently presented then. Duke Rodrigue is the only other Alpha Dimitri has allowed to be this close, and he had needed the time to adjust to it. Surprisingly, he finds that Claude’s scent is not unpleasant—not grating at all.

“Oh my, so formal. Well, I suppose it wouldn’t do for a Prince to conduct himself otherwise.” 

Claude pulls away in favor of pulling a chair up to sit side by side with Dimitri, still closer than would be considered polite for acquaintances in Faerghus. Perhaps it is an Alliance custom between nobles. They do seem to foster close relations with one another.

“Mind if I check something? It will only take a minute.” He gestures to the book, bringing his hand incredibly close to where Dimitri’s fingers prop it open. 

Dimitri swallows, unsure of why he feels so nervous at the prospect of Claude accidentally touching him. “Please, go ahead. I should be leaving soon as it is.”

“Thanks, your Princeliness!”

Claude’s smile is wide, bright teeth another striking contrast against his skin. It reminds Dimitri a little of Sylvain’s, making him feel at ease and wary at the same time, knowing how much his friend hides behind them.

Claude flips it to a page of combat techniques. His eyebrows shift into a serious slant. Dimitri’s curiosity brings him to follow Claude’s finger as they study the instructions. He didn’t have an inherent knack for the bow as Felix did but he was always interested in learning more about different kinds of weapons. Such knowledge would serve him well on the battlefield.

The text was too complex for his level of understanding. However, Claude seemed to benefit from it, nodding at certain points and humming his satisfaction as he traced around the illustrations. Perhaps he was more sincere than first impressions would indicate.

“You are an archer then? I would be happy to hand this volume off to you. It would likely find greater application in your hands.”

Dimitri prepares to stand, bracing his hand on the table.

“Yeah I am. I prefer to keep a safe distance in most situations. Doesn’t mean I can’t hold my own when I’m cornered though. I’m sure you’ll find out all that, and much more, fairly soon.”

Claude steals a look at Dimitri from his bent over position, a sly smile working it’s way up to his mischievous eyes. 

Dimtri flushes and, to his horror, stutters a response.

“W...What do you mean by that?” 

Claude laughs and flutters his eyelashes in a way that even Dimitri understands is flirtatious. “Well, we’re going to have to face each other sooner or later. As house leaders we have an obligation to display our strength to our classmates. I’ve heard you’re strong..” His eyes rove over Dimitri’s shoulders and arms before he continues. “Even so, I hope you know, I don’t intend to lose.” 

Dimitri pushes himself away from the table and quickly stands, heart pounding freely now.

“I’m afraid I must leave now, Claude. I have a prior obligation to attend to.”

Meeting for tea with his soulmate was quite a bit more than a “prior obligation”, but the words tumble from Dimitri’s mouth before he can think them through.

“I hope that volume proves to be enlightening.”

Claude’s sly grin is still present. “Yeah, sure, your Princeliness. We’ll definitely be seeing each other around.” 

* * *

_The nerve of that—he was far too casual! And a nickname, already ?_

Dimitri practically fumes as he storms downstairs, face still flushed from the bizarre encounter. He slowly returns to his focus as he feels his soulmate searching for his location. He sighs and heads to the kitchen to brew Felix’s favorite tea. Hopefully, this will go well. He doesn’t know if he can handle another any more emotional surprises today.

It’s a good thing that Felix dislikes both of those things then.

Their discussion is cordial almost the entire way through. It has been this way for many years, and Dimitri is afraid to push it, but feels he must soon. He’s never brought up the issue of their sexual intimacy—namely, that it is practically nonexistent. His ruts are…well, even outside of them, his arousal is far and few between. His biggest issue during them is his rage. It is a difficult thing to control. It worries him that Felix will be exposed to them eventually. 

He shares these worries with Felix, and is relieved to see his soulmate blush and acknowledge it.

“We still have time left for you to get ahold of yourself, Boar.” His face reddens even more. “It’s not like I have a lot to go off of either…I’d appreciate it if we took it slow. I’ve got my own issues to work on.”

 _Boar._ Dimitri had grown accustomed to _that_ nickname. He didn’t blame Felix for using it. It was…an accurate description of what he’d witnessed in the Rebellion, he’s sure. Though, he can’t particularly remember the episode. 

He has the scars to confirm it.

“Of course. Felix..I would never force you. I want you to be safe and happy with me. I will do everything in my power to ensure that you get whatever you want, my dearest.” 

Dimitri reaches forward to cup his hands over his soulmate’s. He brushes their wrists together and Felix allows it for a few seconds before Dimitri feels him resist the gesture. He looks up to see Felix struggling within himself, eyebrows drawn in as his gaze is focused on his long since drained teacup.

“What if…I..”. Felix cuts off, biting his lip. A flash of pain cuts across, rousing Dimitri’s concern once again. 

“My love, what is it..? You can tell me. I want to help..” He leans forward, brushing his thumb across Felix’s. Felix shivers, not from fear or revulsion, Dimitri feels, but in premonition.

“What if I don’t want to be your Queen, Dimitri?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am on [twitter](http://twitter.com/thefriedpipes)! Come talk more about fe3h with me 🤗


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will make up for how short this is, I promise.
> 
> The pot is almost done simmering.

It had been easier than Felix thought, to tell Dimitri that he didn’t want to marry him.

It had been easier than Felix thought, to convince Dimitri he was destined to be alone.

Dimitri didn’t get angry. He didn’t argue or cry. He laughed. He laughed for a long time. He smiled at Felix with teeth that did not gnash in pain.

And Felix cared a lot more about it then he thought he would.

He remembers thinking about this moment, all the way back in the garden in Fhirdiad on the summer of his twelfth year. How would Dimitri look with his face twisted in some other emotion than that blind reverence he’d come to loathe? He’d seen it years later, in the rebellion—the madness and the rage. He’d seen it again after that, in the dim hallway—the hopelessness, and the terror, and the suffering.

This was something entirely different. Something he thought he’d never see.

Dimitri gave up. He’d broken him. Of all the things he’d been through, Felix saying those words aloud, words that they both knew had been the truth for a long time—an unspoken wildfire between them—this was the final blow.

Dimitri lets his forehead fall forward into his open palm, still chuckling. Felix holds his half curved position across the table, tensing to prepare to fight or run, whichever one the situation calls for. When Dimitri raises his head, his blue eyes are icy and calm and Felix sees and feels nothing as he’s locked into the gaze, transfixed by their quality.

“Oh, Felix...what if I don’t want to be your King as well?”

Felix is floored. He half sucks, half chokes, on his responding breath. Dimitri is as a doll before him, raw and untouchable—empty on display for only him to see. He presses his fingers against the mark of Blaiddyd, unable to tear his eyes away from the Prince, yet desperately needing confirmation that Dimitri is not dead, somehow, in front of him. He feels the raised lines quiver underneath him, their usual pulsing and burning so low and unresponsive he has to focus intently to feel it.

Their bond is still intact. The connection is weak. It is not the relief he sought. Not even close.

The rejection hurts, digs deep down in the crevasses of his heart. Every beat from the separation following their confession has a painful tambour of _wrong, wrong, wrong._

He’d been so certain, so sure that Dimitri would resist him on this. He must have prepared for about a hundred scenarios—but not this.

In all of his hypothetical contemplations, never once had he thought about the fact that Dimitri wasn’t free either.

“You.. _don’t_ want to be my King?”

Is it really his voice that said that? _No..it sounds so wounded. So betrayed._

Dimitri’s eyes are like stones, unflinching. “I don’t want to _be_ a King. Much less, have a Queen by my side who views me as their greatest nightmare.”

Felix, however, does flinch at the words. “I don’t..”

“Don’t lie to me. You can’t. Even now..” Dimitri looks down at his wrist. The crest of Fraldarius seems innocuous—gentle and silent, as if it is sleeping. If only they could do so as well, and awaken from the shattered dreams threaded by the string of a Goddess that has cut the line from so very, very, far away.

The sun continues to set behind Dimitri, bathing him in an unearthly orange glow. Felix watches it, prays to it as it continues to slip beyond the horizon, wishing that he too could chase the temporary freedom of the night.

“...Sorry. That I waited so long to tell you.”

Dimitri reclines at Felix’s apology, crossing his arms. “It doesn’t matter. It wouldn’t change things.” He sets his mouth in a firm line. “It still won’t change things.”

Felix grits his teeth and is unable to hold back a painful groan. They both feel it—a stabbing in their chests, a bitter tang that bites with the fangs of a cornered animal.

“I know.” 

Felix cannot bring himself to look at the frozen reflection of a man across from him.

“I will still marry you. I will still rule. You will remain by my side.”

Felix digs his fingers deep into the crest.

“I know.”

“Eventually, we will have to bond and produce heirs. We cannot escape that fate.”

Felix actually growls at this, a hot tear escaping and rolling down his face. 

“I know.”

It is all he can say. All he can do is admit those two words, over and over again. He knows Dimitri is right. He can’t even think of an alternative now.

“I did love you, Felix.”

Felix finds Dimitri’s eyes once more at the confession, slowly probing their depths.

There is guilt there. It’s something that shouldn’t be present when saying such a thing, but Felix recognizes what it is. The resounding empathy that surges within him at the realization is enough to spark a connection that makes the two men jump, jolting them from the daze of their dejection.

Felix understands clearly now. Dimitri loves him, and despite everything in the universe that commands it, he believes that he does not deserve to.

Dimitri vocalizes his suspicions.

“I am incapable of it now, that love, but while I still have enough sanity to choose I will make it so you never have to worry about such a thing. You will live in Fhirdiad, with me, and we will only produce heirs out of obligation. We will never be together so long as it is our will. Other than that, you are free to do as you please.”

The lump in Felix’s throat is so large now he is afraid it will burst and kill him. This isn’t what he wanted. Not at all.

“‘Mitri..that’s not—“

“If you can think of a better way, do let me know. If not, don’t bother talking about it.”

Dimitri’s eyes continue to appear vacant, even as the corners of them become wet with tears. He turns his face up to the sky and lets them fall, gazing at the same emerging constellations he so eagerly gushed about to Felix half a decade ago.

“Enjoy the year before you, my Queen, before we must gather our bonds.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am on [twitter](http://twitter.com/thefriedpipes)! Come talk more about fe3h with me 🤗


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has commented and given kudos! I appreciate your time and welcome all feedback. ❤️
> 
> There’s going to be quite a bit of sharing the bed and NSFW content coming up, starting toward the end of this chapter. I’m not entirely confident in my smut writing yet and throwing in A/B/O dynamics is a world of it’s own. I hope it’s enjoyable to read.

Dimitri is still adjusting to the sudden shift in his relationship with his soulmate when Claude finds him again.

The night after the first mock battle between the houses left him restless. The victory had been close. There were many students who surprised him with an unexpected strength and cleverness. The pink haired girl from the Golden Deer house had tricked Dimitri into thinking she was an easy target and he’d taken a particularly bruising blow to the ribs because of it. If it had not been for their bond…well, suffice it to say that he and Felix now only seemed to connect to one another completely on the battlefield. It was an unfair advantage to be able to communicate without speaking, especially considering that they were strong enough to hold their own separately.

Dimitri relished those moments. He already enjoyed the thrill of battle, and it appeared that Felix did as well. The warmth that flows through them as they advance together toward their foes is reminiscent of the way Felix’s sticky fingers used to slot between his as Dimitri dragged him around the city of Fhirdiad when they were small, showing him all the little shops and greeting the people he would someday be expected to rule over with kindness and humility…

“Excuse me? Your Princeliness? Earth to Dimitri..!”

Dimitri blinks mid stance in a swing of his lance. Claude’s feline green eyes are once again too close, perhaps a foot away, unbothered by the threat of Dimitri’s weapon pointed mere inches above his slightly slanted shoulder.

He straightens and sighs when Dimitri lowers his lance and steps backwards. The Prince’s eyes are drawn to the swing of his braid when he does.

“Sorry, guess I got too close again. You wouldn’t snap out of it until I did though.”

Dimitri’s breathing is still too accelerated. He focuses on calming it, closing his eyes and dropping his shoulders.

“It’s all right. I apologize if I’ve kept you waiting. I was.. It’s imperative that I keep up with my training. I also came to clear my mind.”

It is later than he thought. The cold has set in fully and the moon is high in the sky. Dimitri is used to it, coming from Faerghus, but realistically there is no one who should be outside training at this time.

Still, Claude is here, and it appears as if there is something he wants from Dimitri. He shouldn’t keep him waiting much longer.

“Don’t worry about it, Highness. It was only a few minutes. I’m in the same boat, you know—needing to keep up with my combat training—especially after yesterday.”

Claude slips his hands into his pockets, wearing a coy look on his face. “Congrats on the win, by the way! I’ve never quite seen symmetry like that before; it’s like you and Felix were one person.”

Dimitri shivers. _It’s the cold._ He lies to himself. It is easier to believe the lies, to make them become his truth. 

“Felix is an accomplished swordsman. We have known each other from birth, and have found an approach to our techniques that suits us well.

Claude’s mouth twitches with a touch of remorse, surprising Dimitri. He scratches his head, not quite meeting the Prince’s face anymore.

“I meant to tell you sooner, but with getting prepared for the battle and all I wasn’t able to find you. I’m sorry about that day in the Library. I would have kept my distance if I’d known you’d had a soulmate.”

Dimitri stares, willing himself not to blush or allow his lips to part in shock. _Is Claude admiring that he’d flirted with me?_

“I..I accept your apology—of course—but how did you not know about Felix and I? It is common knowledge even outside of the Kingdom.”

Soulmates were rare enough that whenever they occurred in Fodlan, the announcement would spread to the other territories. It didn’t take long before the entire continent had heard of it. He didn’t know of a single other pair at the Monastery, even though there were a rather impressive pool of students who bore crests.

Claude’s mask solidifies. “Sorry. I guess I don’t know as much about Fodlan’s customs as I thought I did.”

Dimitri’s surprise continues, as does his curiosity. “You were not raised here, in the Alliance?”

“Something like that.”

The finality in Claude’s tone makes it clear this is not a subject he wishes to discuss with Dimitri, but it quickly turns playful at his following statement.

“I thought you’d studied me enough in the Library to figure that out, at the very least.”

The memory of Claude’s fingers, so close to his, the taste of his breath in the air, and the scent that even now Dimitri can’t help but hone in on flood him all at once. 

“I..I thought you’d said you were going to keep your distance.” Dimitri shoots back, hotly.

Claude chuckles and raises his hands in surrender, shaking his head. “I’m standing over here, aren’t I?” He looks up sideways at the sky.

“Where I was raised.. it isn’t relevant right now. The stars look the same no matter where you are when you see them, don’t you think…” He flashes those blinding white teeth again and Dimitri’s heart pounds away in his traitorous chest. “..Your Princeliness?”

Somehow the force of those words hit him harder than they should. Dimitri feels as if the breath is knocked out of him. He is unable to stop staring at Claude, beautiful as he is under the moonlight, and even the same steady pulsing of _wrong wrong wrong_ that has been flowing through his veins since his teatime confession with Felix lessens as he finds his lips affirming Claude’s question without thought or permission.

Claude smiles, more sincere than before. “Good. I’m glad we can agree on that front. For people like us, in the position we are, unity is important for the future of our country.”

His gaze falls to Dimitri’s lance, forgotten in the loose grip where it hangs. 

“I want a rematch, Your Princeliness. Just you and me now—no rules, no games. If I win, you’ll agree to regular tea sessions with me, so we can discuss what diplomatic expectations we’ll have between the Alliance and the Kingdom of Faerghus.”

“And if I win..?” Dimitri’s throat is unbearably dry.

“Well now...I admit, the confidence I have in my abilities hasn’t allowed me to think that far ahead.” Claude raises his eyebrows mischievously. “So I suppose, you’ll have to come up with that condition on your own.”

Felix hardly pays the information that Dimitri will be meeting regularly with Claude any mind when Dimitri tells him about it the next morning.

“I’m more concerned about the fact that you lost. Don’t neglect your training against long range opponents, Boar. Fighting from a distance is the most effective way to put a beast down.”

Even through his harsh words, Felix’s eyes linger on the dark circles which have once again settled like craters above Dimitri’s cheekbones. A spark between them, too quick to catch, but there nonetheless, lightens the mood.

“Take care that you don’t lose again. It doesn’t do Faerghus any favors to have a weak King.”

He brushes his wrist against Dimitri’s as he leaves, a slight warmth pooling there that Dimitri doesn’t know how to respond to. It’s always more complicated than he has the energy to comprehend.

* * *

  
For months afterward, things remain more or less the same between the four friends, with the exception of Claude, who starts to hang around longer than necessary for his scheduled tea breaks with Dimitri. It’s a bit odd to Felix that Claude is so interested in the members of the Blue Lions when he has his own house to worry about, but Claude has turned out to be an unexpected asset to his training. His input on bow techniques and combat arts is invaluable, and Felix has improved much in that regard. Additionally, Felix finds that Claude is not at all bad with a sword in his hand. The challenge of being able to fight another person with multiple areas of similar expertise softens the intrusion.

Felix sees the way Claude steals looks at Dimitri. It’s the same way he steals looks at Sylvain. It doesn’t worry him; pursuing both is a lost cause. So, he lets the Leicester leader drink his fill and doesn’t mention it. He’s grown to abhor the senselessness of love.

“Fuck! Felix, not so rough!”

Felix blinks. He’s covered in sweat and there’s something thick and wet on his cheek that he knows right away is blood. He shakes his head as he tries to remember where he is. Sylvain groans in pain somewhere very close by and it makes him apprehensive. He knows what Sylvain sounds like when he’s truly hurt enough to complain.

“Hey. Are you alright? Can you get off of me? I..really feel like I might get sick.”

Felix inhales shakily as he registers the direction of Sylvain’s voice, coming from underneath him. He scrambles away, shame filling him as he takes in the sight of his bloody training gauntlets first and then the state of his friend wincing on the ground.

Sylvain’s lip is bleeding. He’s holding his ribs and stomach, groaning and not even attempting to get up. His breathing is labored as he lays there trying to find Felix without raising his head.

“Damn. You really did a number on me.. Might have a few cracked ribs. Mind helping me out with a little heal spell?”

Felix feels his eyes burning and bites it back as soon as he can. He will not cry again like he did as a child, but goddess had he fucked up. He didn’t mean to slip into his thoughts like that. He didn’t mean to lose control again..

“Sylvain, I’m sorry..”

He crawls back to Sylvain and starts murmuring a basic incantation, placing his hands over the areas Sylvain’s fingers were grasping just a moment earlier. It takes a while, and he needs to use a lot of energy to concentrate. He’s not very good at this yet. He only just figured it out by Byleth’s request that everyone study enough faith magic to learn a basic healing spell. It was to cover themselves when he sent them off in pairs. Sylvain had already needed to heal him too many times due to his impatience, but Felix didn’t think he’d ever have to heal Sylvain from his own attack.

“What’s got you thinking so much that you didn’t notice your crest activate four times in a row..? Four times, Felix. You’re lucky I’m good at reading you or I’d be dead.”

Felix’s hands are still on Sylvain’s ribs even though the spell is finished and they should only, in the worst case scenario, be bruised. Sylvain could move away now, but instead he places his hand over Felix’s, gazing up in concern at the swordsman’s wide eyes and even paler than usual face.

“I’m.. I’m sorry, Sylvain. It was so stupid, and careless..”

“Hey..” Sylvain reaches up to wipe the blood off his cheek and raises his eyebrow when Felix shivers in shock. “It’s okay.. You’re okay?”

“Yeah..” Felix can’t help but look into Sylvain’s eyes as he brings his hand up to lay over the hand on his face, needing to touch it and feel that it’s real. “If you’re okay.”

Felix had almost lost him, this last mission. Miklan—the bastard. He’d taunted Sylvain and made him vulnerable, then drew him in for the attack. Byleth cut him down before he could get to them but then he’d transformed.. and the madness of that beast lashed every which way, clawing at the cavalier and throwing his friend from his horse into the wall. Mercedes and Annette had to disengage from the group to get Sylvain to stop bleeding from his head and close the gash over his ribs that extended to the middle of his chest.

He grimaces in disgust. He’d probably just hit the same area with his carelessness. It only took a few seconds of losing himself to the memory for their training session to turn lethal.

Felix extends a hand to pull Sylvain up and slings his arm over his shoulder, supporting him. “I’ve had enough training for the day. Let’s go to the bathhouse and clean up.”

Sylvain stumbles and Felix feels him tense.

“Ah—no, that’s okay. I’d rather go later. I should probably visit the infirmary first to have Manuela check me out.” He looks off into the distance, avoiding Felix’s frown and furrowed brows.

Sylvain was in bad shape, but it wasn’t _that_ bad. He’d be perfectly fine within a few days if he took it easy. It wasn’t like that’s a difficult thing for him to do. Was Sylvain trying to avoid him? It wasn’t like him to act so nervous.

“Alright…”

Sylvain stops them at the stairs, putting his other hand on Felix’s arm. “I’m not mad, I promise. I needed to see her anyway—make sure everything’s working itself out.”

“I don’t care if you’re mad.”

Felix starts walking again and they don’t speak again until they reach the infirmary where Manuela pulls Sylvain in dramatically, chastising them about working their bodies too hard.

* * *

  
There is no one in the bathhouse when Felix arrives. Sylvain was being unnecessarily weird about nothing. It would have just been them, and it’s not like they hadn’t bathed together as kids. They’d seen each other naked even up until about the time Felix had visited him before he left for the Western Rebellion. There’s no way such a pervert was embarrassed to be seen in the nude by his childhood friends.

He dumps another bucket of water over his head and huffs. They’d both been on edge since the mission, that’s why he’d suggested they spar. Look how that had backfired. Maybe he should apologize again.

 _No._ That was stupid. Sylvain had already forgiven him, and it wouldn’t help to bring it up again. He should leave him alone, at least until morning, and see if there’s still a problem then.

Felix sighs and wraps a towel around him as he goes to dry off. He wasn’t good at this. All this overthinking was new to him. He shakes his head, damp hair whipping his face in a refreshingly stabilizing way. He should retire early tonight. The only way to stop that kind of thinking is to sleep it away.

Unfortunately, his dreams far too often haunted him in ways that were much, much worse than what he could imagine in the light of the day.

He awakens in a sweat, shaky hands reaching for his face. They are white and unsullied, not steeped in warm blood that would never wash away. He breathes, deeply, slowly, and stares at the wall to his right. Dimitri is quiet tonight. Everything is so quiet outside of his head.

In his dream, Sylvain had been dead. Felix’s hands were stained red, pressed deep into his guts, trying to staunch the bleeding that had long since proven fatal. Miklan’s mocking laugh taunted him from what seemed like all directions at the same time.

_Thanks for doing me the favor, brat! He was a nuisance since the day he was born._

The implication was that Felix killed him, though he can’t recall how. He doesn’t want to. It’s a small mercy his mind allowed him to eclipse.

The urge to get up and do something to distract himself is unbearable. It was hours before the sun should rise, but there’s no hope of returning to sleep, not now. He bites his lip, considering. He’d promised himself he wouldn’t bother Sylvain until morning, but it wouldn’t hurt just to check on him quickly, see if he was in any pain.

He hesitates to knock, listening intently for any signs that the redhead is sleeping. Sylvain is as loud as he is asleep as he is while he’s awake, bumping into things with his awkward limbs, talking while he dreams, sometimes snoring.. _hmmpf._ It irritated Felix to think about it. It took years to acclimate.

There’s no noise from the room, so he raps on the door—quietly, but repeatedly. A groan and a shuffle comes closer, but the door does not open.

“Whoizzit?”

The voice sounds off, but not in a sleepy way. He’d gone to see Manuela fairly late, did she offer him some wine as a part of her “treatment plan”?

“Sylvain, it’s me. Did you..drink?”

“What?! No. I just..ugh, come in.”

The lock turns, but Sylvain still doesn’t open the door. Felix waits a few seconds more, then pushes it open, closing it behind him as he searches for where Sylvain has gone.

He’s already back in his bed. That’s.. not an encouraging sign. Felix smells the smoke of guilt, but Sylvain sits up and waves him over.

“Did you have another nightmare?”

 _Damn it_. How did he know? Felix was supposed to ask him about his health, but here he was already coming to Sylvain about his problems. Again.

“Yes.”

He pauses, looking at Sylvain’s chest, which is bare. The ribs are wrapped and the gash has scabbed over into a shiny pink scar. Annette and Mercedes did a good job making sure he survived, but it would always be there now, a grim reminder of his brother’s final attempt on his life.

“But it doesn’t matter. I came here to check on you.”

Sylvain chuckles. “Did you now? Well, that’s very sweet of you, Fe. You want to get a closer look?” He flaunts his chest, pulling the covers down even further. Felix is relieved to see that he’s at least wearing bottoms.

“You damn pervert. Forget I even came.” He snaps, but there is no real anger behind it. Sylvain laughs again, wincing a bit at how it pulls at his ribs, and Felix moves toward him, concern replacing his exasperation.

“Can I stay?” The words are out of his mouth before he has the sense to realize he shouldn’t say them.

Sylvain’s eyes widen so momentarily that Felix would not have caught the movement if he were not accustomed to searching every little variation of his expressions. He pats the _very small_ amount of remaining space on the bed beside him and Felix swears internally. This is going to be worse than the night they spent before they left the Gautier estate to come to the Monastery.

He slides in, feeling like he has cursed himself when the hot firmness of Sylvain’s muscled— _and_ _injured,_ he reminds himself—chest presses against his back. His arms are practically dangling off the side, but there’s barely any space between their bodies as it is and he can not— _will not—_ push further back against Sylvain in his state of undress.

Sylvain is sweltering even without his shirt on and the sheets pulled down on his side. He’s always been warm, perhaps because it’s so cold up there in Gautier and he’d die if his body hadn’t figured out something. It’s never bothered Felix, but there is something about tonight that worries him, beyond his nightmare. He can’t quite place it, but it feels like it is important for him to be here.

“What’s on your mind Felix?”

Felix blinks, trying to connect his consciousness to his last coherent thought. He wasn’t thinking much of anything, honestly. Sylvain feels nice and safe so close to him, even though he’d never admit such a thing out loud. It’s making him drowsy. The air seems..thicker. Sylvain’s scent is heavy as he’s breathing behind him. It’s not at all unpleasant. In fact, he likes it quite a bit. He can’t remember the last time he’s felt so relaxed. Lack of sleep has really begun to make a fool out of him.

It’s even starting to affect his training. He lost to Ingrid this week. They probably thought they were doing him a favor by putting him in the room next to his soulmate, but it’s really had the opposite effect. Between him and Dimitri, the nightmares were never ending. There hasn’t been a single night since they’ve came to Garreg Mach where one of them didn’t have an episode. He’s so tired—he’s so fucking sick and tired of this.

The warmth of Sylvain’s chest is practically emitting waves that are borderline disorienting. It’s like the damn fires of Ailell. Felix can’t think anymore. He doesn’t want to think anymore. He just wants to sleep—to have one night where he doesn’t need to worry about anything until he wakes up. He’s so very close to drifting off here and now, while he’s this close to Sylvain…

“How is it that every time we do this the bed keeps on getting smaller?”

Felix’s grumbling has no real purpose other than distracting him from the blood in his body already reacting to Sylvain’s body. The bed is pushed up against the wall this time and he knows no matter how he complains Sylvain won’t be able to move much further back against it.

Sylvain breathes a low whisper of a laugh into his ear. “I think they do it on purpose, to keep the students from shacking up.” He sighs, and the force of the exhale is enough to shock Felix into arching back a little.

_Fuck._

“I really was looking forward to having a bigger bed too. It’d be worth it, even if I only used it to sleep next to you.”

Felix gulps, glad that it is dark and that Sylvain can’t see him blushing at the bold statement.

“What the hell are you talking about, Gautier..it’s not like..it’s not like we do this often.” 

He clenches the sheets trying not to scream when Sylvain closes the little distance they have between them and reaches over to cage him in with an extremely feverish arm.

“I know. But I miss it. I miss you like this. Maybe I should get injured more often.”

The rumble of his bare chest is making Felix dizzy. He’s still in enough control of his senses to react in strong dislike to that last statement though.

“Don’t you dare say things like that! Be serious.” 

Felix aims a kick downward at Sylvain’s feet, but misses as it tangles in the sheets and ends up arching his ass and back into him instead.

Sylvain’s hot breath in his ear hitches, and his exhale is slow afterward. There is an unspoken invitation that hangs so heavily in the air Felix feels like he might black out if he continues to suffer under the weight of it.

Sylvain’s lips are practically moving against his jaw now. “I’m always serious, Fe.”

Felix is throbbing in his small clothes and the blood is rushing to flood his ears. This situation was bad. He should leave. His soulmate was on the other side of the wall for Goddess’s sake! Sylvain is.. Sylvain...

Sylvain is nibbling his ear, the hand that was once slung innocuously over his side is now rubbing slowly up and down his thigh. Felix’s head swims, unable to process the knowledge that this is actually happening while his body _burns, burns, burns,_ under the tender touch of the man he’s wanted for years now.

“Wha..? Haaa.. what are you doing..? Stop that..”

Felix shivers as the lips that were nibbling his ear part and Sylvain begins to tongue his way down his neck, kissing when he reaches the collarbone. His hand dips forward to the inside of Felix’s thigh and teases there a moment while Felix continues to tremble and burn before completing its journey, slipping under the waistband of his small clothes and wrapping around his erection.

“Do you really want me to stop?”

Felix whimpers and throbs in Sylvain’s hand. His mind is a fog of disbelief and lust and it is all he can do to keep breathing. Even that is proving to become impossible as Sylvain gives him an experimental stroke and the air catches in his throat. He digs his face into the sheets and shakes his head in an answer that he’s not sure if he will regret. He pushes back into Sylvain in little jerks as Sylvain proceeds to thumb around the head of his cock, smearing the precum, still breathing heavily into Felix’s ear.

Sylvain’s tongue dips inside it. Felix finally looses a low moan and arches back, unable to take it anymore.

“Yeah..just like that..let it go, Felix..”

“ _S..Sylvain_!”

 _Is that whining?_ Is he fucking whining right now? He doesn’t care. Sylvain is almost unbearably hot against his own sweltering body. He’s never felt anything close to this any of the times he’s touched himself. Sylvain squeezes harder, moving skillfully up and down at a quicker pace than his previous teasing and Felix can’t help but buck into it.

“Yeah Felix..? Do you need more?” He bites down on Felix’s neck, softer at first, then harder as Felix’s pants and moans begin to fill the room in a higher frequency.

“Why..are you doing this?” He manages to tumble the question out, though it breaks off into another, particularly embarrassing, moan.

“ _Mmm.._ how about you just enjoy it? Try not to think for a while.” 

Sylvain’s free hand roams all over him, squeezing the pliant flesh of his thighs, scratching lightly at his chest and teasing his nipples. Felix’s eyes roll into the back of his head, willing himself, begging his body not to already explode.

He reaches back with the arm not pinned underneath him and grabs at Sylvain’s small clothes, twisting them into a knot in his fist, arching and trying to rut against him as firmly as he can. He’s rewarded by a resounding groan.

“Fuuuck.. _Fe._.”

Sylvain whispers pitched variations of his name over and over again in his ear as Felix continues his frenzy. He’s eager to find something to do that can pleasure him back, but he’s afraid that if he turns over and kisses him, fists his fingers in Sylvain’s hair, drags his tongue down the edge of that scar, that the spell will be broken and it will turn out to be too good to be true after all.

Sylvain suddenly grabs his hip firmly and holds him there. Felix is about to protest when he feels Sylvain shuffling out of his bottoms and sliding the slick head of his cock up and down the impression of his ass. Everything that Felix was focusing on before that moment melts away. His gasps turn impressively needy. Sylvain’s cock is hard and hot and wet against his backside and it’s driving him wild not to be able to have it. 

The desire to please Sylvain expands until it becomes all Felix can think about. Even the boiling heat pooling low into his stomach does not hold a candle to all the wonderful thoughts of it. He whines as Sylvain swipes his thumb hard against a sensitive spot under his head and gathers the courage to break away and flip around.

Sylvain stutters and braces himself up sideways on his now freed fingers.

“Felix..?”

“Kiss me.”

“Excuse me..?”

Felix can feel the blush erupting on Sylvain’s face, dark as it is, and there is a small sense of satisfaction that such a simple request would make him timid after what they’d been doing.

“You heard me. Kiss me, Gautier. Then, you can finish what you started.”

Felix is approaching his face as he speaks it, impatient to devour him. He feels around in the darkness without much caution, finding Sylvain’s jaw so he can yank it forward and close those last few inches that always seem to be a chasm between them..

“ _Ahhhhhmmmm Sylvain…_ ”

Felix jolts awake with a gasp. He’s wet. Sticky. The first rays of sunrise are so bright through the curtains that it makes him squint. _Damn it goddess damned.._ That had been the most graphic sex dream he’d ever had. He didn’t think he’d ever come so hard or so much. He drags a finger through the fresh stain on his small clothes with disgust. He hated having to deal with this so soon after he woke up..

“F..Felix?”

Felix stops, not daring to respond in any way. Sylvain is…behind him.. his heart jumps as he scans the immediate area. He’s not in his own room, or in his own bed.

He’d just come all over himself and his friend’s sheets to a wet dream starring them.

So this is how he dies.

Sylvain groans and buries his face into Felix’s upper back. His forehead is still scorching. It’s probably his fault. Why had he held him all night? Why had he asked to stay?

“I’ll leave. Sorry.” He doesn’t explain what he’s apologizing for.

Sylvain’s arms work their way around him and he whines, not letting him go. He digs his forehead into Felix’s back, shaking it back and forth. _What the hell is wrong with him..? It seems like he’s getting even hotter._

Felix props himself up and twists around, pushing his face away to put a palm on Sylvain’s forehead. Sylvain moans gratefully and leans into him, grabbing his hand and rubbing his face on it, making some of the strangest noises Felix has ever heard.

_Is he..purring?_

“It’s so hot.. Felix—can’t take it anymore.”

Felix tries to resist Sylvain curling up against him, worried that he will feel the dampness caused by his dream, but the redhead is relentless, using all of the weight of his body to cling tightly and continue to rub his face against him, this time on his chest. He’s vibrating with the noise, an almost supernatural flush on his face that’s starting to make it’s way down his scantily clad body. Felix tries not to stare, but Sylvain is honestly beautiful. It looks like he’s glistening under the early morning rays.

Felix reaches for his hair tentatively, pushing it out of his face. Sylvain responds with a happy sound, nudging himself against Felix fully and pressing his thigh high up and deep between Felix’s own. It is then, when Felix feels a trickling meet him there, and Sylvain begins to sniff and root around his scent gland that he comes to the shocking realization.

Heat. He’s in heat.

Sylvain is an Omega.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am on [twitter](http://twitter.com/thefriedpipes)! Come talk more about fe3h with me 🤗


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW chapter where Felix fights his obstinate inner thoughts and gives Sylvain a little lovin’.

Felix exhales a long breath and gently pushes Sylvain away from the spot where he’s begun happily mouthing at his neck. A whine—higher and needier than Felix is used to hearing from Sylvain—shudders through him when the contact is broken.

“Sylvain, you have to stop.”

Sylvain twists his eyebrows in confusion, reaching a tentative hand toward Felix’s face. His eyes are sad and hazy and honestly working. Felix lets him lay his palm against his cheek, waiting against his better judgement to see what he’s trying to do.

“Can—can you at least scent me? Please..”

Felix’s heart jumps and recoils at the same time. That was dangerous territory at the moment and he knew it. It wouldn’t do anything for Sylvain if they were to rub their wrists together when he was like this. His heat wants him to seek out potential mates and the scent glands that will need to be stimulated to calm him are the ones on his neck and..

And the ones between his thighs.

Felix vehemently refuses to look. He won’t. It would be over in seconds if he were to scent Sylvain there.

“I haven’t presented yet. It won’t do much for you.”

Sylvain groans in frustration. He pushes himself forward into Felix again, craving any touch he can get. Felix holds his next breath, both at the increase in Sylvain’s scent, which has developed an enticing aroma, and the words he murmurs against his skin.

“It will..because it’s you.”

Felix’s face rivals the burn of Sylvain’s body. There’s no way he means those words. Sylvain talks like that all the time to women he never bothers to learn the names of. _It’s just the heat. Don’t get your priorities mixed up._

“Sylvain, what the hell are you talking about? What is going on? Since when have you..when did you present?”

Sylvain’s face is buried into his collarbones. He trembles slightly more at the question.

“Since before the monastery..can’t remember exactly.”

_Impossible. How could he have hidden it from everyone? He didn’t smell like anything..even Dimitri couldn’t tell._

“Is that why..? Yesterday, after we left the grounds..”

“Yeah..” He begins nuzzling Felix’s neck again and the swordsman holds back the urge to swear. This is nothing, it’s mere instinct. Sylvain’s scent gland isn’t too close yet, he knows not to push it.

 _He’d better._

“I had to..from Manuela. Pheromone blockers. Didn’t want you to see me there..in the bath. Sorry.”

The smell of pine needles saturates the air as Sylvain slurs and omits his words, slipping deeper into his heat. Felix begins to wonder if he really does need to keep his nose. It’s one of the more unnecessary senses when it comes to swinging a sword.

“Sylvain..it doesn’t..” _It doesn’t matter to me that you’re an Omega. It doesn’t change the way I feel about you._

Sylvain moans into the junction of his neck and twists into him. Felix’s body tenses, very _very_ aware that Sylvain had pressed his crotch against him and unlike in the dream he’d had there was no bulge. Instead, Sylvain was incredibly wet and the smaller hardness that was there twitched with want.

Fuck if he didn’t want it too. He’d wanted it for how many years now? It’s hard to remember how to count with the person you love pressing themselves against you like they want to sink inside your skin.

Even so, Sylvain is somewhat compromised right now. He’s not going to take advantage of the situation.

“Get ahold of yourself. You’re acting ridiculous..like this is your first heat.”

Sylvain whimpers and grabs the fabric of Felix’s shirt, cursing like he’d already come. He shifts himself slightly higher so that their chins are almost level. His eyes bore into Felix with a wild desperate look. Felix can feel how feverish his skin is even through his clothes. When he speaks, however, it is with a coherency Felix didn’t expect.

“It’s technically my second. I had to get the blockers right away. My father..you know, with the crest babies and all that. I’d be even more screwed if he found out.”

Felix sucks in a breath and regrets it. His vision swims with warm citrus. It’s still not enough to distract him from the truth in Sylvain’s statement. He grunts in anger at the thought of the Margrave shipping Sylvain off to breed with the best offer he receives.

“They can’t hold the heats off forever.. I already knew it. It’s building up. It fucking hurts.”

Sylvain chokes at the admission and dips his head forward and _shit_ Sylvain never talks about his pain like that. It’s all a joke to him until it isn’t and when it isn’t it’s damn well because it feels like he’s dying.

He can’t do anything about Sylvain’s father. He can’t change their world on his own. He can do something about this, at least. He’s the one in control here. He’s capable of keeping his distance and not letting emotions get in the way of his decisions.

He’s not doing this because he loves Sylvain. He’s not. Any decent person would try to help in this situation. Even if he’s probably not a decent person anymore, he can pretend for a few minutes, make Sylvain comfortable enough to sleep, then he can leave.

“…I’ll scent you. But we both need to sit up.”

Sylvain yelps gratefully and immediately begins nosing around Felix’s neck. Felix pushes him away, staring up pointedly, refusing to reveal the look he gets on his face when Sylvain does that to him.

“Sit up, Gautier. Don’t tell me you need my help with that too.”

“I got it..” Sylvain’s arms wobble and his eyes narrow in pain just by lifting half of his body from the bed. Felix scans his recent wounds warily. He’d have to be careful of them.

He supports Sylvain, pulling him the rest of the way up and leaning him halfway against his body. Sylvain immediately bares his neck to him, breathing deeply in anticipation.

Felix finds himself unable to stop staring at his scent gland. It’s flushed, like most of him at the moment, and slightly swollen. He doesn’t know if that’s normal. He doesn’t really do normal as it is. It’s a surprisingly intoxicating sight, and Felix loses himself in it, feeling a little hazy at just how heady Sylvain’s scent has become. 

His lips begin to tingle as he wonders what it would feel like to press them against that swollen gland. How would it feel to scrape his teeth against it, soft and soothing at first, then to clamp down sudden, and hard, drinking in the citrus and pine and the metallic tang of Sylvain’s blood until it stained his chin? How would Sylvain look writhing underneath him as he lathed his tongue over the impression of his teeth in pride, sating it, closing it, locking them together for the rest of their lives...

Sylvain digs his fingernails into Felix’s arms, breaking him from his trance.

Felix groans and chastises himself for letting such thoughts take over him. _Ridiculous_. He’s not..Omegas don’t do that. Especially not to other Omegas.

Sylvain’s eyelashes are delicately fluttering by his shoulder. He’s tensed, waiting for Felix to do something. Right. He’s supposed to scent him. Would it be enough to rub his wrist against Sylvain’s neck? If he brings his face any closer..

Sylvain answers him before he can ask, fingers suddenly pressing into Felix’s scent gland, making Felix swallow a growl. He still has a few months at the very least until he should present, but the sheer concentration of multiple heats unleashing at once was really starting to get to him.

“Your neck. I need it.”

Sylvain’s voice is somehow able to remain impressively compelling, even with the edge of impatience. Felix finds him, neck still bared, but crooked in a way that his face is positioned perfectly within his range of vision below him. His eyes are dark, lips moistened, tongue just beyond his reach behind the little line of his pout.

He’s hard again. It’s embarrassing; they haven’t done anything. Scenting doesn’t mean anything, not really. It will only comfort Sylvain, cover the worst of his pheromones, temporarily marking him to keep him safe from any interested Alphas.

He’s going to go through this himself, soon. So he should know, he does know, what to do and how to do it, in theory. Yet in practice, Felix supposes, here is an early chance to learn how to prepare for the kind of future he will have—to experience what he’s learned about.

He tousles Sylvain’s hair with his fingers, searching for a sensitive spot to work up a rhythm. He’s going to have to try his best here to be gentle. It doesn’t come easily to him, not at all, but if anyone can draw it out from him it’s going to be Sylvain.

Sylvain sighs and relaxes into his touch. He slumps his body even more into Felix, wrapping his arms around his torso.

“That’s good Sylvain. Stay right there for me.”

Felix turns his head away for a moment, taking as large of a breath as he dares, and maneuvers his neck until it’s pressing firmly against Sylvain’s.

It’s almost unbearably hot. The pulsing of Sylvain’s swollen gland drives a hunger in him that he stifles as he stays absolutely still at first, refusing to acknowledge the arousal that is no longer contained merely in his chest and between his thighs. He knows Sylvain can feel it, can smell it, likely better than even he can. He nudges them together, hesitantly, vigilantly focusing on Sylvain’s response and trying to gauge what an appropriate amount of contact is. He’s never scented anyone anywhere other than the wrist, but he knows Sylvain’s body language well enough, even like this.

He does not expect the smell of slick as Sylvain comes, gripping hard onto his back and crying out, to make his stomach jump with desire. He pulls him closer, rubbing harder, a small moan dying as a whisper on his lips.

He’s still in control. He’s still in control.

Sylvain pants a broken apology, coming down from his orgasm, though his hips continue to rock forward, unable to stop seeking contact with Felix’s own. Felix gasps as Sylvain pushes flush against him and presses against his erection, unaware as to when he had even parted his legs to begin with.

“Felix..”

Normally Sylvain would be smirking in this kind of a situation, joking and possibly even flirting, but right now all Felix sees on his face as he pulls back to peer down beyond their stomachs is a ravenous hunger.

“Don’t even mention it, Gautier. Anyone would...with the stink you’re putting out.”

Sylvain continues to stare at the outline of Felix’s cock in his small clothes, damp from the sweat caused by the intermingling of their hormonal bodies and what still remains from his unfortunate dream, like it is his last meal.

“Stop that or I’ll leave.”

Sylvain shakes his head and slinks down until he can bury his face into the gland that Felix just scented him with. He sighs blissfully.

“No. I need you to stay.” He latches on to Felix with an unexpected strength, desperation in every inch of his trembling body wearing down the edge in Felix’s obstinate reply.

Those words, _I need you_ and _stay_ stirred some terrible longing within him that pissed him off. Everything about this pissed him off. None of this was supposed to happen. Sylvain wasn’t supposed to be an Omega. He wasn’t supposed to be reacting this way. Omegas were supposed to smell sweet, another reason why they shouldn’t interest him, but Sylvain had the audacity to smell smoky and spicy and warm, like his favorite Almyran tea.

“Why? I already scented you.”

Sylvain’s voice breaks against all the nerves in his neck. “I don’t want to be alone.”

Despite how pissed he is, Felix knows that he won’t actually leave Sylvain like this. The irresponsible idiot is in for a rough time, but he’ll settle in much easier to his heat if there’s someone here to scent him and fill the room with something other than his own pheromones.

“I’ll stay, but don’t even think about touching my dick.”

Sylvain laughs weakly. “I’m not even allowed control over my own thoughts anymore?”

His skin is still scorching hot, but his breathing has settled a bit, and his terrible humor hasn’t gone anywhere. Felix isn’t going to let him get away with it.

“That’s right. Now shut up if you want me to stay.”

Sylvain nods, sated for the moment from the promise. His weight is becoming too heavy to remain in this position. His height makes it awkward for Felix to keep holding him like this. They’re going to have to move again.

He pushes Sylvain away and shushes his protests, turning him around and holding him steady for a moment until he’s sure he can handle staying upright for at least a few seconds. Felix leans forward, brushing his lips across the nape of Sylvain’s neck.

“ _Be good for me._ ”

Felix fluffs the pillows and lines them up carefully behind him. He reclines and pulls Sylvain’s back against his front. Sylvain lolls his head to the side and shuffles his small clothes off, sighing at the freedom. He slides a sweaty hand up to grab onto Felix’s fingers before they retreat from his shoulders.

“Please...touch me.”

Felix’s nostrils flare at the request. He doesn’t have time to figure out why, but a flash of a possessiveness clenches, then passes through, his heart. He links his fingers with Sylvain’s and the Omega drags their intertwined hands to rest over the spastic rise and fall of his chest. Felix hesitates, unsure of exactly how far he should take this.

“How should I touch you?”

Why again did he offer to do this? He barely knew what to do with himself. And now Sylvain..now Sylvain..

Against his better judgement, Felix looks down, and curses audibly.

Sylvain’s thighs are covered in his own juices and his little Omega cock is standing at full attention. He can’t see much further without craning his neck, but he knows from what he’s been told that beyond there he will find slick folds. His cheeks burn thinking about how close he is to it as Sylvain parts his thighs even wider and raises them up as far as he can.

“Let me—can I show you?”

Feeling as if all the neurons in his brain could implode if he actually tried to proceed on his own, Felix grunts his affirmation.

Sylvain firmly presses the hand still splayed over Felix’s hand on his chest and starts to snake the other one down his abdomen. He wraps a few of his fingers around his shaft, stroking lazily, panting harder already and pressing firmly back into Felix with a groan.

Felix feels himself leaking in his smalls again as Sylvain moves against him, pleasuring himself within perfect view in exactly the way he wants _Felix_ to touch him. Felix feels his brain already start to commit the information to memory as his eyes work overtime, straining to pick up every little detail: The sound of his sighs, the angles of his rippling abdomen as he arches, the pout when he bites his lip, turning his face into something that should be commemorated by stained glass in the cathedral, the tremor of his thighs that signals he’s approaching completion, everything has him groaning alongside Sylvain as the Omega builds up a heat between their bodies that’s pushing him to what feels like the edge of unconsciousness.

Finally, it seems like Sylvain can’t hold back his frustrations anymore. He releases Felix’s hand, reaching up and finding a place to hold onto in the bun that has fallen messily toward his nape.

“Felix..”

“Do you still need my help?” 

The sound of Felix’s own voice surprises him. It’s deeper and lower, with the curve of a purr. It’s a miracle that he hasn’t come himself yet—hasn’t hiked Sylvain up a little further, turned him around, and emptied himself between the slick, plush, flesh of his thighs.

“Yes— _yes_..”

Sylvain shuts his eyes tight, quickening the pace of his strokes and breaths right along with it.

Felix dips his hands down Sylvain’s chest, the lightest amount of pressure from his fingernails finding the patterns that make Sylvain’s breathing pick up. He arches his head back as far as it can fit over Felix’s shoulders and his hips come up in sequential little jerks.

“ _Yes, Felix, please touch me like that, please don’t stop.._ ”

Sylvain’s requests are ragged and choppy and run on repeat as Felix continues his ministrations at a punishing pace, never quite reaching down far enough to give him what he truly needs. Sylvain’s cries grow louder, a painful desperation causing him to writhe and drive his fingers further into Felix’s tangled hair.

Felix smirks at the show, enjoying himself now despite all the internal conflict it took to get here. There is a buzzing high he’s found in making the squirming Omega in his lap cry his name over and over again as he teases him with feather light touches. He’s not going to last much longer though, and such a meager contribution won’t be enough to send Sylvain over the edge in the state he’s in.

He’s still in control. He’s still very much in control. He’s going to end this.

One of his hands knocks against Sylvain’s grasp, pulling his fingers away from his cock. Sylvain’s breath hitches in surprise, but Felix wastes no time taking over his strokes, and if the cries are worth anything, it’s a good indication that he’s a quick study.

“Don’t stop touching yourself.”

His command comes as a musky growl in Sylvain’s ear. He’s eager to make him come now, feeling his own desire for release rising within him. The friction of his small clothes against Sylvain’s back is preventing him from his peak and it’s starting to become uncomfortable. He needs to take care of Sylvain first, though.

Sylvain seems to forget how to function, not obeying initially, his eyes glazed over with the attention. Felix groans at everything currently overwhelming his senses, nipping hard at Sylvain’s neck to draw him out of his stupor.

“Use your fingers on what I can’t reach.”

Sylvain sucks in a large breath, exhaling it in prayers that sound like “ _Yes”_ and “ _Felix”_ , reaching around and under Felix’s hand. He extends two fingers, turning them inward, and enters himself, crying with relief.

The noises he makes with his body and mouth are obscene and something Felix has never heard before. He can see the fingers disappearing and reappearing before they remain deep, moving in a way that has Sylvain spasming so out of rhythm that Felix is forced to hold him still with a firm hand on the side of his hip and a squeeze to his cock. He digs his nails into Sylvain’s side, moaning into his neck, thinking about how good it must feel to be inside him.

“Gonna come… I’m gonna come.” He sounds like he’s going to die, really, but Felix is right there with him.

“Go on then.”

He grabs Sylvain’s hand as it pulls out and intertwines their fingers once more, pushing back inside with a new force. Sylvain’s fingers are bigger and longer than his, and Felix can barely reach, but what he does feel is so warm and wet and tight that he accidentally bites down dangerously close to Sylvain’s scent gland and draws blood.

That’s what does it. Sylvain clenches and spasms around their fingers, moaning and pushing back hard against Felix, who ruts against him a few times more before he spills into his small clothes again.

“Felix.. _Fe_..thank you.”

Felix tastes salt and is blithely aware that he’s licking the bite he made on Sylvain’s sweaty neck in an apology, even though it’s not a bond and he doesn’t have canines so it’s not that deep. Sylvain seems to appreciate the gesture anyway, and it’s something to relax them as they come down from the high.

Sylvain seems entirely content to curl up against him. He shifts around, smiling sluggishly, pinning him with his weight. His face is uncomfortably close to Felix’s as he purrs and rubs their necks together again. His questioning eyes fall on Felix’s lips.

Felix stiffens. He runs his fingers through Sylvain’s hair, slowly moving them apart and lying Sylvain back down. Sylvain goes easily, his body and mind compliant after his orgasms, and even though there is still want in his eyes Felix ignores it.

He refuses to kiss him. Touching, scenting, even coaxing Sylvain to orgasm was one thing, but the implications of them actually kissing is somehow too delicate, too intimate, to consider. It’s literally what he’s dreamed about, but he won’t allow it to happen here. Sylvain will walk away from this when his heat is over and right back into his philandering ways, but Felix has too much to lose from the connection.

“I’m going to wash up.”

Felix hovers over him a moment, as if it could somehow convey even a glimmer of the galaxy that exists as a space in his heart where only Sylvain can reign. Sylvain is quiet and contemplative as well, a stark contrast to the whiny, pleading, mess he’d been mere minutes ago.

“You’ll come back..won’t you Felix?”

He’s already decided on bringing back a basin of water and some soap to make sure Sylvain keeps clean, but it wouldn’t do to let the cavalier think he’d planned ahead. He’ll be fine enough for a while with what he’s given him.

“I’ll think about it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am on [twitter](http://twitter.com/thefriedpipes)! Come talk more about fe3h with me 🤗


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I must have read over and edited this chapter at least 10 times before I felt comfortable posting it, and it still feels like something is missing. I don’t know why it gave me such trouble, but I hope you all enjoy it!
> 
> As always, thank you for your comments and support! 💕

Felix decided that the best way to approach Dimitri about helping Sylvain through his heat was to tell him the truth.

He wasn’t planning on this—any of it really—but isn’t that always how things seemed to go with Sylvain? There was something almost innate about his friend’s distress that made it difficult for Felix to refuse him. He knew he was screwed when he came back with the intention of cleaning Sylvain up and got dragged into yet another session of heat haze.

This time, Sylvain came clenching around Felix’s fingers alone, and Felix could no longer pretend that he wasn’t invested in the situation.

He wipes Sylvain down, knowing that he’s not ready for a full bath anytime soon with how heavy his breathing still is and the twitching of his untouched erection. Felix doesn’t look at him as Sylvain struggles not to cry.

“I.. I’m sorry. Thank you Felix. You don’t have to..”

Felix stills the motion of the damp cloth, grabbing at one of Sylvain’s trembling wrists and cutting him off.

“I know I don’t. But nobody else will.”

 _I’d never let them._

It’s a dangerous, dangerous, thought for Felix to have.

Sylvain doesn’t say anything. Whether it’s an effect of the heat distracting him or a real form of restraint, Felix doesn’t know. He resumes wiping Sylvain down and somehow ends up with his fingers wrapped around his cock, coaxing another orgasm from him and pulling him back into his arms.

Fucked. He’s fucked. His only hope is that Sylvain won’t remember all the little details of how he’s cared for him. With how far he’s let things progress, it’s a slim hope.

He strokes Sylvain’s sweaty head as he finally sleeps and doesn’t move for a while afterward, hating the hesitation.

He doesn’t want to let go of him. It makes Felix want to tear at his hair when he thinks about leaving. He restrains a growl. Sylvain feels like _his._

It’s the strangest feeling he’s ever had and he’s worried about it, but it’s not the problem he needs to focus on right now.

He doesn’t tell Dimitri any of this.

“Boar. I need to speak to you. In your room. Now.”

He finds Dimitri halfway down the hallway, luckily, no doubt returning to change after his morning activities—which were very different than Felix’s on this particular day.

“In..in my room? Felix, why do you smell like..? Have you..?”

Felix clamps his hand over Dimitri’s mouth, hissing and glancing around to make sure nobody was there to overhear them.

“Your room. Now.”

Felix all but breaks Dimitri’s door down in his desperation.

Dimitri’s room smells strongly of him. Felix has been in it before—here and at the castle—but it has never seemed quite so pungent to his nose. He supposes he has Sylvain to thank for that. Omega pheromones were not only strong, but they worked differently on the senses than Alpha pheromones. An Omega in heat smelled stimulating and pleasant to most people regardless of presentation, but an Alpha, in or out of rut, was a mixed bag of reactions.

For some reason Dimitri’s scent was upsetting him more than usual. Felix shakes his head, attempting to calm the nausea. It was all so confusing, yet Dimitri was waiting for his explanation. He couldn’t make one up that would cover everything. He needs to do this gradually and carefully.

“It’s not me that’s in heat.”

Dimitri’s shoulders sag just the slightest amount, but the tension is still palpable and Felix tastes the apprehension on his tongue.

“Who..? Felix, I can smell them on this floor. Are they safe?”

_Of course they aren’t safe. Not in this world.._

He sucks in a small breath and nearly coughs on the musk in the air. It feels wrong to be here. He feels antsy to get back to Sylvain already.

“It’s Sylvain.”

He bites his tongue, waiting, feeling Dimitri’s incredulity before his response.

Dimitri chuckles, relaxing more—as if Felix would dare joke around about something like this.

“That cannot be. His presentation is rather delayed, but that can happen sometimes to Betas. Did he have an Omegean girl visit him early this morning..?”

Felix snaps at Dimitri, closing the reasonable distance he always keeps between them, cutting him off.

“Shut up! Take a second to think about it and tell me if I’m lying.”

Dimitri does. He stills, sniffing again now that Felix is closer and his eyes widen. Felix feels a sharp jump across the Blaiddyd mark. The shock was easy to predict, but not the pain.

“You’ve been with him. You smell of his heat. You bear his scent.”

Felix swallows, knowing this was an unavoidable consequence of protecting Sylvain that he already considered.

“I have. I was there when it hit.”

Dimitri’s eyebrows draw together in further confusion and pain.

“When he.. how long..? How long has he been like this?”

Felix sighs, letting go of some of the heavier emotions he’d been restraining now that he’s more sure that Dimitri won’t lose his mind over the revelation. The Prince flinches, but does not pull away or let it kill his curiosity.

“I don’t know.” Felix admitted. “He won’t tell me. Or he can’t. His heat came this morning and he’s been suppressing it so it’s worse than usual. He can’t be left alone. I need your help...Dimitri.”

Dimitri startles at his name as if he’s never heard it. A warmth tingles between them. It’s pleasant, albeit unexpected.

“You need.. my help?”

It almost breaks Felix’s heart to see and hear how hopeful his soulmate is just by him using his name while he was asking him for a favor. Dimitri didn’t even know what he was going to say yet. Fuck, he was so emotional today. Had he really been this terrible to Dimitri before?

“I need to stay with him. I need you to cover for us. Can you keep this a secret?”

He says it all quickly, thinking that it will make it easier somehow. It doesn’t.

Dimitri opens his mouth and makes a noise that is something of a disbelieving squawk. He coughs, then tries again, a faint blush spreading across his cheeks.

“You mean..?”

Felix makes his own noise, through the corner of his mouth, set in a grimace.

“Not that! Well.. not exactly that, but yes.”

Dimitri nods, his thoughts so rapid that Felix cannot follow, so Felix settles on the far easier task of staring out of the window while he tries to calm his heart down.

It wasn’t like what he was asking was too much of an uncommon practice. Young unbonded Omegas often spent their heats together when it was safer than seeking an Alpha or Beta partner. They couldn’t truly take care of each other’s needs, but the company helped speed the process along and prevented the heat from becoming overwhelming. It was perfectly acceptable, even among nobles, and even more so when it involved friends.

But this is not a common practice. Nothing about this is.

Technically he is unbonded in body, but his soul is tied to Dimitri’s. Felix hasn’t presented yet, so there is no telling what he will actually be able to do for Sylvain. At the very least, he knows that what he’s already done has worked well enough to lull the Omega into some much needed rest. He’s confident he could, and would be sorely tempted to, kill anyone who dared try to step foot into Sylvain’s room to take advantage of him. There were a lot of Alphas on the second floor, including Dimitri himself.

_Dimitri…he wouldn’t do that. Not to Sylvain. He’s.._

Felix has never seen Dimitri in a rut before, so he doesn’t actually know. If it’s as bad as the Rebellion…

No. _No._ He’s not going to think of that.

Dimitri coughs again, gathering Felix’s attention.

“I will do all that I can. Is there anybody else who knows?”

Felix blinks. Dimitri has already given his blessing? Not that he needed it but.. still. He’s accepting this, even though it must feel as horrible to him as it does to Felix.

“Manuela. Sylvain said he was going to her for the suppressants. She must not have known how long he was taking them. I don’t think there’s anyone else.”

His soulmate’s eyes narrow for a reason Felix can’t ascertain. He doesn’t feel like he’s the subject of Dimitri’s suspicion.

“No one else will then. You have my word.”

Felix swallows, feeling more fearful of the promise than he should. Dimitri feels off, even for the strange situation. His anger is tainted with something else. Jealousy? It would be understandable, Felix is supposed to be his.

“Everyone is aware of the injuries you gave to Sylvain yesterday. I will simply exaggerate, as Manuela has undoubtedly already done, and claim that you are caring for them while nursing some of your own. I will also pay her a visit to see if nothing else can be done to improve his condition.”

That’s...so much more than he could have asked for. Dimitri always was incredibly caring toward his friends, but he’s a terrible liar because he’s clueless when it comes to deceiving others.

“Dimitri, will that work?”

Dimitri is shaking with some internal struggle that Felix doesn’t understand is happening right before his eyes. He covers his nose at the acrid smell of his anger. It’s enough to make him wince.

“I—I don’t know. I promise I will try my very best. Take some of my shirts if you please; it will help mask the scent.”

Felix raises an eyebrow. He’s probably right. Just because it doesn’t smell good to him doesn’t mean it won’t smell good to Sylvain. He’s been very restless even after receiving Felix’s attention. He probably needs to nest.

“Thank you.”

Dimitri is already heading for the door, pulling at his collar. Felix follows him, confused, and when Dimitri turns to him with a feverish glare in his eye he figures it out.

Of course the bastard had to go into a rut.

Felix immediately bristles, heading toward Sylvain’s door, even as he’s aware Dimitri could probably just use his body to break through it.

Dimitri merely steadies himself sideways against the wall, barely leaning. It appears as if he still has some control.

“I won’t..Felix. I wouldn’t.”

He sounds like he wouldn’t, but Felix is taking no chances. He bares his teeth at Dimitri without thinking, growling a warning that makes the Prince’s breathing pattern turn ragged.

“It’s not like that..you wouldn’t understand how I feel.”

What a strange thing to say to one’s soulmate—they wouldn’t understand. Felix would be more upset about it if what Dimitri was saying wasn’t at least partly true. He’d never understand what an Alpha was going through, provoked into a rut by an Omega in this kind of situation. Yet, there is something he does understand perfectly well, and that’s the desire to protect someone he cares about.

“Hey, hey! What’s going on here?”

Felix further raises his hackles when he sees the leader of the Golden Deer running down the hall toward them. He sounds worried and he doesn’t look threatening but he also doesn’t smell much better than Dimitri did before they left his room. They smell similar..? He can _smell_ Claude now?

Dimitri is one thing. He’s Felix’s soulmate. They’ve been together practically their entire lives. Of course he can smell him. He’s always been able to.

Claude is someone he’s barely acquainted with. They’re _friends_ , sure, if you want to call it that, but Felix’s nose has sharpened much too quickly to be able to hone in on his specific scent when only yesterday he could barely pinpoint his dynamic. Claude’s also an Alpha, and while his sedated scent is a little better than Dimitri’s caustic pheromones at the moment, Felix still doesn’t like it.

From inside the room, Sylvain suddenly whines loudly at the proximity of another Alpha and the heady scent of Dimitri’s rut.

Dimitri slams his hand into the wall, shaking the torch by his door loose. It cracks upon the ground and he retracts in shock to find that he left an indent in the foundation.

He gasps, while the other two remain silent, trying to figure out how to avoid any further escalation.

Dimitri doesn’t seem to need any further intervention, however. Pure loathing causes Felix’s fingers to twitch toward his wrist as Dimitri pushes his palm against his forehead. His voice is so quiet, Felix can barely hear it. If Claude’s concerned face had not confirmed it, he would have thought he heard wrong.

“Take me to Manuela, Claude. Please hurry. I am truly nothing more than a beast to be isolated.”

Claude looks to Felix as if he’s asking for permission. 

Felix nods, cringing as Sylvain whines again, this time in a much sultrier tone. He hears the shuffling of sheets and coughs, indicating for the two Alphas to leave.

“Please..don’t tell anyone.”

He can’t help but whisper to Claude as the archer pushes Dimitri in front of him. Felix doesn’t beg. Ever. But for Sylvain? To make sure he’s safe? He’s not certain what his limits are anymore.

Claude looks at him like he is trying to tell him something that even he doesn’t comprehend. Felix gets it anyway. It’s the conundrum he’s come to believe he’ll never solve—that incomplete puzzle where he and Claude always seem to hold the missing piece that the other needs, but have no way of handing it over.

“Don’t worry. I might collect secrets, but I make it a point not to share them.”

So he does. Felix has no choice but to trust him. His fists are quivering faster than the pulse of his heart as he nods.

Claude keeps a hand on Dimitri’s back as he throws Felix his cape. Felix barely reacts in time to catch it.

“Let Sylvain have that. It will mask his scent more than yours can and keep the others away. It’s better for all of you three if he comes out smelling like me. There’s a lot less of a scandal if people assume we’re together, and, let’s be honest—between his track record and the rumors they spread about me, they won’t assume he’s an Omega just because it smells like we’ve slept together.”

Felix doesn’t get to answer before Claude starts pushing Dimitri forward again. It’s too risky to raise his voice or go after them, leaving Sylvain here to be discovered. He sighs gratefully and quickly slips into Sylvain’s room where he finds the cavalier in a position that brings a blush to his face.

“Sylvain!”

Felix hisses as Sylvain stops touching himself but doesn’t make an effort to cover up or lay down like a normal person would. He’s completely exposed to Felix and it makes the swordsman’s head pound. He hates this, hates admitting that he wants to fuck his friend. It’s not like before, where he would just curse himself for having stupid desires like wanting to kiss him or lay his head on his chest, or even those dreams he sometimes had about touching each other—such things were just reminders that he was an idiot for falling in love with his best friend. This isn’t like that.

Felix genuinely wants to have sex with him. He wants to lay Sylvain down and spread his legs and make him feel good like his body and mind have been begging him to do since they woke up. It’s only been half a day and it’s already getting harder to push those urges away.

It’s hormones. It’s just hormones—he knows. But Sylvain knows that too, and he’s not so far gone at the moment that he should be teasing Felix like this. He would have been touching himself in a frenzy the whole time that Felix had been with him if he was. They’ve been talking, even joking, and he’s been answering questions in between Felix caring for him. Hormones or not, Sylvain needed to stop being such a fucking tease for once in his life for the sake of their friendship.

Felix throws Claude’s cape on top of his ass, ignoring the moan that comes from the cavalier as the Alpha’s scent makes contact with his skin.

“I know you’re in heat, but it doesn’t mean you have to act so shameless. What if it wasn’t me that came in?”

Sylvain lays down and rolls over, snatching the cape as he does and rubbing his face on it, purring.

“Alpha.” He croons happily.

 _Oh_. Felix understands now.

That’s exactly what Sylvain was hoping for. Of course. Felix couldn’t give him that specific need.

“Do you even know whose cape that is?”

Felix snaps at him, not sure why he’s so upset at something that isn’t Sylvain’s fault. He’s here to prevent that from happening, but of course Sylvain is going to want it, and he shouldn’t begrudge him over his instincts.

Sylvain’s vision is a little clouded, his smile dazed, but he furrows his brows trying to answer Felix anyway. He sniffs at the cape and wrinkles his nose in recognition.

“Claude?”

Felix sighs in relief that he recognizes the scent as a distinct person, noting that Sylvain isn’t really doing anything else with the item. He’s not exactly sure how this is supposed to go. Doesn’t he want to nest with it?

“Is that going to be enough for you, Sylvain?”

Sylvain’s brows continue to furrow as he draws closer to the edge of the bed. He clutches the cape in his hands under his neck as he cocks his head at Felix, looking like he’d asked him to explain S+ reason magic.

“Felix.. c’mon. Why are you still over there?”

He pouts. Sylvain actually _pouts—_ not in the annoying way where he’s complaining about some idiotic issue with women rightly taking offense to his actions, but in the way that Sylvain is genuinely upset that Felix is more than three feet away from him and _apparently_ that is his biggest problem to solve.

He paws at the space at the edge of the bed and whines. His brown eyes look even wider and warmer than usual. It’s…cute. _Saints_. He’d never say it aloud. Sylvain had no business looking like that. He’s..isn’t he supposed to be in heat right now? Why can’t he just be predictable and fucking stick to being insatiably horny?!

“Feliiiix. Don’t just leave me with this.. you said you’d stay.”

Sylvain drops his chin on the bed and blows his sweaty bangs out of his face. He’s actually acting this dramatic over not being touched right now—over not being paid attention to by someone like _Felix_.

Felix is _not_ blushing right now. He’s mad. This is what he looks like when he’s mad. _Hmmpf_. It’s not like Sylvain can tell.

“Why are you so damn needy? I’m still in the room; I haven’t gone anywhere. You don’t need my help right now so just..let me watch you from over here in peace.”

 _Ah_. No, that didn’t come out right at all. It’s much more suggestive than it sounds. He’s not trying to watch the idiot do anything. He’s just.. keeping him safe. It’s a decent thing to do.

Felix’s heart accelerates as Sylvain hangs his head and he can see how sad he’s made him. What the hell? He said meaner things to Sylvain all the time and it was fine. Is it just the heat? Are all Omegas this way?

Will he be this way too? He hopes not.

He sighs and runs his hand through his bun. He needs to redo it. He should sit down for that, so he might as well just go over to where Sylvain is. Whatever.

Sylvain wastes no time, nudging against him before he’s even fully seated and purring again, louder than he was when he was rubbing Claude’s cape against his face.

That’s not good at all.

Felix tentatively places his hand on Sylvain’s head as the Omega curls as much of his body as he can into his lap. Everything feels so warm when they are touching. It’s effortless as soon as he allows it to happen. Everything that follows just feels natural.

Sylvain leaves the cape by the edge of the bed in favor of rubbing his cheek against Felix’s thighs. Felix knows what that means. He feels the weight of it like a target on the back of his neck. Sylvain is reacting to him as if Felix is his mate.

There are so many reasons why he can’t be. 

Felix feels that unfamiliar buzzing high again. He suddenly wants to rip that cape to shreds. He hates it. It shouldn’t be over there, within reach. He shouldn’t allow it to be anywhere close to Sylvain.

He hears Sylvain gasp and a wave of arousal scents the air. Felix releases his death grip in Sylvain’s hair, apologizing and trying to swallow the way his friend’s lidded honey eyes make his stomach feel like it’s knotted deep into his intestines.

“Felix…”

Sylvain’s face is positioned perfectly in the place where it has the potential to be its most dangerous. His breath is quickening as he digs his nails into Felix’s thighs.

“Sylvain…”

It’s meant to be a warning. To Sylvain, first warnings sound like an invitation. He should have said nothing at all.

It’s not the last time that day that they catch each other’s name on their lips—nor is it their last day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am on [twitter](http://twitter.com/thefriedpipes)! Come talk more about fe3h with me 🤗


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thank you to everyone who’s left kudos and such kind comments! ❤️
> 
> This chapter is mostly NSFW and more feelings because I’m projecting hardcore right now lol

Claude wasn’t used to finding himself in situations that rendered him completely unsure of how to proceed.

Of course, when he was younger, that was how he learned, by failing over and over again. He must have narrowly dodged death at least a dozen times by now. Suffering wasn’t a sport he liked to play, so he turned the art of survival into a game he did enjoy. He liked to look at problems in the same way that he viewed chess.

In the beginning, the strategies you can invent are near limitless. The more steps you and your opponent take, the more precise your tactics must become. It’s simple and brutal. The hindsight of a single mistake can ruin your streak, break your resolve, and cost you the win.

Unfortunately, for him, people aren’t chess. People are unpredictable. Some more than others—he should know.

Sylvain Jose Gautier.

Felix Hugo Fraldarius.

Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd.

Those three were definitely a problem.

Claude liked to solve problems. He always appreciated a good challenge. You could even say he enjoyed getting a little in over his head.

Yet, this situation? There’s such a thing as too much. He’d gotten involved in something bigger than he was capable of juggling. It’s how he found himself here, pressed between the pillars before the stairs to the second floor, with half a mind to kiss the man with murderous intent written in every line of his face and half a mind to beg for his life.

* * *

  
“Slow down there, your Royalness. Let’s talk this out.”

One of Dimitri’s hands has already left a crack running up the pillar where he slammed into it and the other is bunched in the fabric of Claude’s shirt, directly centered in a fist against Claude’s chest.

“You are far too casual, Claude. You hide behind your careless words. It means nothing. Your will is irresolute.”

Claude’s feet are skimming the ground. Whether or not Dimitri is lifting him intentionally, he shows no signs of exertion in doing so. Claude swallows, unable to look away from the darkened pupils that bear a mixture of arousal and aggression. The smell of Dimitri’s rut is assaulting to his nose, but he has had plenty of practice with diffusing unstable situations, so it doesn’t enrage him like it should.

“Come now, Your Princeliness. You’re not…”

Dimitri’s eyes cloud over with lust. Claude cuts off with a gulp when he parts his lips and breathes heavily in his face. His canines are _huge_. The Prince’s eyelashes are easy to count up this close and as heavily lidded as his gaze has become. 

“I should make you mine. You would submit to me.”

Dimitri says it as he traces the shape of Claude’s jaw. He moves his lips down further, still not quite making contact with the archer’s skin, until he reaches his scent gland. The Prince presses his nose against it firmly, inhaling him, and slides his tongue up and down and around it like a starving man eager to clean his plate.

“I.. _what?_ Dimitri..!”

Dimitri sucks far more gently on the gland than Claude anticipated, but it still throbs in response. Claude shuts his eyes and tries to control his ragged breathing. Dimitri was starting to rile him up despite everything he’d been trained to handle. His instinct told him to fight back but his heart wanted to see just how far Dimitri would take this. His body wasn’t sure which to follow.

“Dimitri.. we can’t..”

Claude breaks off into a moan when the Prince pushes him completely back against the pillar and presses his body flush against him. Claude can feel how hard he is already and, if he’s being honest, he’s close to getting there himself. He mutters an Almyran curse as Dimitri grinds against him agonizingly slow but with such an impressive pressure it suffocates his breath. He distantly wonders why no one has picked up on Dimitri’s smell yet and come to stop them. 

It’s checkmate for Claude however he tries to look at it.

“ _Claude_..”

Claude gasps at the way Dimitri calls his name and the wet kisses he places at the base of his throat. Without his cape and with his collar undone he suddenly feels very exposed. It’s as unnerving as it is arousing. Attraction sits heavy like a stone in his gut, lurching when the Prince starts biting at the flesh above his collarbone.

Dimitri’s teeth graze against his gland and that’s what snaps Claude out of it.

“Hey! No, Dimitri! That’s too far.”

Dimitri growls at the pulse point in his neck, but Claude allows his instincts to take over and forces Dimitri’s face upwards to look at him in one swift movement that takes the Prince by surprise.

“I know you’re still in there, Dimitri. You wouldn’t want things to go this way. You’d want it to be fair. Let me down and we can figure it out from there.”

Dimitri’s eyes flicker with recognition and just a hint of shame. He releases Claude, but does not pull away. He’s returned to breathing in the archer’s face, one hand now low around his waist and the other creeping up his neck toward his hair.

“Prove that you can hold your own then, _Alpha.”_

His lips are wet, and Claude’s neck is still shining with their impression. Neither men move, but the air is saturated by their pheromones and it is only a matter of time before the static breaks and they proceed to devour each other. Claude inhales shakily, wishing that there was someone to pray to that would get him out of this situation. There’s no way he can defeat Dimitri as he is, even if there wasn’t the urge faintly buried within him that _wants_ this.

“Step away from him at once.”

Dimitri growls, whipping around and bracing Claude behind him at the presence of a new threat. Seteth raises his eyebrow at the Prince in a position of protection, releasing a scent that only serves to warn other Alphas away from the person they are attempting to bond with.

Claude senses it too and his eyes widen. Dimitri was pretty far gone into his rut now, and while it was obviously different from the average one, Claude hadn’t considered that the Prince was actually intending to take him as his mate.

“Your soulmate is surely feeling all of this right now. Are you so overtaken by your instincts that you hold no remorse?”

Dimitri’s eyes flash with anger and pain. His arm falls from it’s protective stance and the scent greatly lessens. It’s more tainted with bitterness than anything else. It makes Claude want to bite through his tongue.

“I..will go.”

Dimitri’s voice is rough and cautious. He steps toward Seteth without looking back at Claude. The fists trembling by his side are the only indications of his emotions. It’s like he has cut himself off from everything one could feel.

“Don’t follow me, Claude. I’ll understand if you never wish to speak to me again.”

Claude is left there, still bracing himself against the pillar, as Seteth escorts Dimitri upstairs. The Archbishop’s advisor does not return. He stares at the spot they disappeared from for quite some time, until Hilda finds him and pulls him away.

Even so, the rest of the week Dimitri occupies his thoughts at a more frequent rate than usual. Sleep offers him no respite from the complication, for Dimitri haunts his dreams. The feeling of razor sharp canines grazing against him sends a shiver down his spine. It is easy to imagine them piercing his skin. It is easy to pretend that the lips that scorched his neck would spit their fire into his mouth instead.

It’s far too easy to admit to himself that he wants it.

* * *

  
Sylvain’s heat lasts four days. Claude arrives on the first night with some supplies from Manuela and a few of his shirts, as well as a message that she will be coming to check up on Sylvain periodically. Felix will be able to have a break then, to take care of his own personal needs and show his face to the school should they have any suspicions.

He flushes when Claude thrusts contraceptive tea into his hands and tries to shove it back.

“We won’t be needing that. Ever.”

Claude’s smile reminds Felix of one of Sylvain’s when he’s pretending to think the situation is humorous. It’s his least favorite. Something is bothering the Alpha, but it’s none of Felix’s concern. He’s more upset about the fact that Claude’s lingering in a place where he’s not welcome.

“Thanks for everything else. Don’t come back.”

Felix slams the door shut in Claude’s face, flinging the tea somewhere across the room. He doesn’t care where it lands, and it’s a testament to how deep into his heat Sylvain is that he doesn’t even notice how Felix has created a small pile of mess to be dealt with later.

He opens the box of suppressants. They’re a milder kind, developed to lessen the effect of a heat already in progress. According to Sylvain, he hasn’t taken them before so there’s no guarantee it will work, but they have to try.

Sylvain has already soiled the sheets and Felix will have to ask for more when Manuela comes by tomorrow. Even now, he is rutting against a pillow, whining and pulling at his hair in desperation. Rather than giving him the pill which may or may not help, Felix’s cock twitches in interest at the thought of burying himself deep into the heat he’s touched multiple times today. He shakes his head at it. It would be a disaster. He can’t knot Sylvain, so it would only serve as more of a tease than his fingers did.

Is he even doing the right thing by being here? He can’t satisfy Sylvain’s true needs. He’s getting more worked up as time goes on. Every time Felix touches him, he becomes a little more undone.

“Sylvain. Stop for a moment and sit up.”

Sylvain merely drops his head and sobs, fisting the sheets as his body shakes with the effort of chasing a release he can’t find no matter how many times he comes. Felix is flooded with sympathy. He’s got to figure out a way to calm him down. If Sylvain keeps this up he’ll rub himself raw.

“It’s okay, Sylvain. I’ve got something from Manuela that will help. Sit up against me.”

He pulls Sylvain up and drags him back in a very similar position to when Felix first helped coax him to orgasm. Sylvain must think that’s what’s happening now because his panting increases and he moves to touch himself. Felix grabs his wrist, stopping him, causing Sylvain to loose a distressed whine.

Felix sighs, readying the pill in his palm so that it won’t fall if Sylvain tries to resist him. The mess of Sylvain’s slick is everywhere and Felix bites back the urge to take over touching him. Later, if he still needs it, but right now this is the best way to proceed.

“Be a good boy and take this, okay? Will you do it for me?”

Felix hates having to talk like this, but he figured out pretty much right away that Sylvain responds best to his praises and is eager to please. It’s easier than he thought, to come up with these phrases. Perhaps he’s being influenced by the heat to be the kind of partner that Sylvain needs at the moment.

“Okay...Yes, Felix.”

Sylvain squirms back against him as if there is nothing more he wants to do than be in his arms, but he opens his mouth willingly when Felix tells him to and swallows the pill with no problem at all. Felix sighs with relief and tries to pull his palm away, but Sylvain’s hands snatch at his wrist to hold it there as his tongue licks at it.

Felix’s expression of disgust turns into one of desire as Sylvain guides two digits into his mouth, sucking and moaning. The vibration is enough to make him curse internally before he pulls them away and pushes at Sylvain’s back.

Sylvain falls forward before correcting himself and turning around, crawling on top of Felix with an intense energy that the swordsman hadn’t prepared for. His eyes are wet with tears and want.

“Please..? Please, Felix. I was good for you, wasn’t I..?”

Felix’s chest rumbles with something he’s not going to address. There’s the far more important matter of him straining against his smalls again. This is the second pair he’s changed into and he’s considering just not wearing them at all for the next few days so he’ll merely need to deal with one, extremely soiled, pair of pants.

Sylvain is so hot above him as the natural weight of his body pushes him down and he can feel the Omega’s juices dragging a trail as he continues to inch closer. He stops, crying and trembling into Felix’s collarbone. Felix’s nostrils flare with the heavy scent of an Omega begging to be mated.

“What do you want?” He asks, as if he doesn’t know—as if he doesn’t want anything more in the world to be able to give this to Sylvain.

“I..you. I want you.”

Felix groans at the words spoken aloud. A responding moan from Sylvain against his neck causes him to buck up into Sylvain’s sweet heat. Even through the fabric he can feel him clenching and it’s nearly enough to send him over the edge of restraint. His fingers itch to pull himself out and lift Sylvain up by his hips to seat himself on his cock.

“ _Aah..aah_..”

Felix does curse aloud this time as Sylvain ruts against his cock. He glides with ease, the slippery combination of Felix’s precum and Sylvain’s sopping hole soaking through the layers that separate them. It feels incredible to Felix, who has never imagined something like this would happen to him, but Sylvain only seems to get more frustrated. His sobbing increases as he snaps his hips in desperation. It’s sloppy now and out of control.

“Please..please..let me come, Felix. I need to..I need _you_!”

Felix grabs him and holds him down, pressing his cock firmly against Sylvain’s pulsing hole. Sylvain wails and trembles, but does not come. He throws his head back and bites his lip. Felix can see the tears dripping from his chin.

“Sylvain..I can’t fuck you.”

Sylvain knows he can’t. They both do. It’s not that it will change their friendship anymore—that bridge has already been crossed. It’s very obvious now that Felix wants him. He’s not sure how Sylvain will react to that fact outside of his heat.

He won’t fuck him because once he does, Felix knows he will be incapable of walking away. Sylvain will be his, bond or not, soulmate or not. He would find a way to claim him, and fight with everything he has to keep him.

That’s not something Sylvain truly wants. He just wants sex. Felix can’t just give that to him. It’s his whole heart, his body, and his soul—or it’s nothing.

“Please… Felix. Something—anything.”

He’s so hard to refuse. It takes everything within Felix not to break in these moments. He’s never been tested so much, pushed so far emotionally and physically. It’s exhausting—so he compromises. It’s something he will continue to do through Sylvain’s heats, though he shouldn’t, because Sylvain is famous for taking compromises and redrawing the boundaries.

“Do you want my fingers again?”

Sylvain shivers, but slowly shakes his head. He breathes shakily at a thought he hesitates to share for a few seconds more.

“I want…I need..your mouth.”

It’s Felix’s turn to shake at the request. His heart pounds and Sylvain grips his thigh in reaction to it, nosing around his scent gland again and sighing. Felix stiffens and moves his neck so that it’s no longer exposed.

“I..I’m not going to kiss you! I said..”

“Not there…”

_Ah. That’s different then._

Heat pools into his stomach as his mind focuses in on the feeling of Sylvain’s hole still dripping onto him. He starts to imagine what it would feel like to move his mouth against it, what it would feel like for Sylvain to clench down on his tongue instead of his fingers. He wants to. He does want to taste it. If it tastes half as incredible as it smells… but it’s not a good idea. It’s too intimate.

“That’s not a good idea.”

Sylvain chuckles darkly. The heaviness of the tone makes Felix feel as if they are sitting in the forest again, speaking of their desires to change this world of crests and dynamics and soulmates. Had Sylvain already presented by then? Was he thinking about his dynamic when he’d asked?

“We’re beyond questioning the morality of our actions, Felix. If you don’t want to—please don’t. But if you do…stop worrying about it.”

Felix has already rolled him over before he’s finished his sentence. He parts the Omega’s thighs, tasting the slick as he cleans them, amber eyes boring holes into Sylvain’s surprised face. Instinct takes over as he growls in response to Sylvain’s mewls, biting into the supple flesh and marking him as he makes his way toward his center. His nose brushes against the scent glands high inside of Sylvain’s thighs and he groans, palming at his erection, willing himself with everything he has to pass them over.

“Felix.. please don’t tease.”

Sylvain seems breathless. His eyes are already glazed over with so much pleasure Felix is sure it won’t take long before he tastes Sylvain’s orgasm on his lips, despite never having done this before. He gives an experimental lick, tongue flat toward the underside of his cock and Sylvain keens, hips seeking the full purchase of his mouth.

Felix smirks. The buzzing he’d come to enjoy before has returned in full and he sets to work. He pays attention to every movement, every small noise Sylvain makes as he deciphers how to pleasure him correctly. Felix pulls his cock out and starts to pump, losing himself in the haze of it all and smells a light musk intermingling with the heavy scent of Sylvain’s heat. Distantly, he recognizes himself responding to it, pushing his presentation nearer, but Sylvain’s thighs clenching around his face as he comes, and the succession of swallowing all of the Omega’s juices while finding his own release seconds later distracts him from everything else.

He pants and licks his lips while watching Sylvain twitch and tremble like he’s made of jelly. His own body is vibrating with the magnetism of their pent up sexual energy. This was only the first night. If the suppressants don’t work, Felix fears he may lose all of his control.

Luckily, Sylvain seems sated for the time being. His body temperature has even slightly cooled. He curls up against Felix as he rearranges the sheets so that the dirty areas aren’t touching their bodies and goes to sleep. Felix does not join him yet, running his fingers through Sylvain’s damp hair and pushing it back as he thinks about all the things he’ll still need to do. He’ll need to wash Sylvain tomorrow. They’ll both need a full bath every day if this continues. Manuela will probably know more about Sylvain’s needs than he does…

If Manuela noticed the way Felix was holding Sylvain when she entered the next morning, she makes no comment about it.

* * *

  
By the second day, Felix is certain the suppressants have worked.

It’s not like the heat is gone—far from it. The wild edge has been taken off. Sylvain could probably be just as horny as he is now outside of his heat if Felix didn’t know that 80% of his talk was just that.

He only needs to help Sylvain a few times that day and he’s far more coherent, allowing Felix to dictate more of what’s going to happen. Felix still gives him what he wants though, because even with the scent muted and Sylvain much more in control of his bodily functions, the urge to fuck him hasn’t gone away. Instead of being clouded by lust, he’s been struck with longing like he took a Thoron spell to the chest. It’s so _so_ selfish of Felix to feel this way when Sylvain would still so easily submit to such a request. He wouldn’t know the repercussions of Felix’s feelings for him—how could he?

It doesn’t help that Sylvain has been incredibly physical with him.

Sylvain refused to nest with Claude’s shirts at first. Felix was secretly pleased that Sylvain didn’t want any other scent than his, but he knew it wasn’t wise. The archer was being overwhelmingly helpful through this even though he didn’t really have a reason to. It was Felix’s mistake to try and include logic to urge Sylvain to act reasonably. Even when he wasn’t in heat, he was too damn stubborn to listen.

“It doesn’t smell right..”

Sylvain sticks up his nose, wrinkled in distaste when Felix tries to hold it out to him. Felix grumbles, pinching the end of his own nose, finding the speck of patience he keeps hidden far away from where Sylvain’s antics can get to it.

“I don’t care. You can’t go out stinking up the place with your pheromones when you leave. Do you want your father to find out—because I can just go ahead and write to him now to save us the trouble.

Sylvain’s lip trembles. “Felix..”

Okay, perhaps that was a little much. Goddess. He’s already so pent up. Sylvain has been sticking to him (literally) all morning and it’s driving him crazy with the inability to do anything that they truly need about it. They’re filthy in body and in mind. They could both use a cold bath right now.

“Fine. We’ll deal with this later. Get in the basin.”

Manuela had foreseen their bathing situation and brought a huge basin full of water that she promised to empty and refill daily. She demonstrated to Felix how to do so magically, but Felix was...a bit distracted by Sylvain rubbing against him without any shame at the presence of company.

No matter. He could boil it when Sylvain was done and use what was left to clean himself later.

Sylvain lowers himself and proceeds to wash up. Felix watches warily, feeling self conscious for some reason. He’s there to take over if Sylvain’s heat intensifies again, but the process of overseeing his bathing seems so intimate. Really, he just wants to be the one washing him. It’s a tenderness he can’t afford. He’s not Sylvain’s mate and never will be. He shouldn’t want to touch him like that.

It’s hard to restrain the knot forming at the base of his throat. Sylvain is smiling as he removes all of the evidence of their actions. Good. He should forget. If Sylvain doesn’t mention any of this when it’s over, it’s better for all of them.

“Felix? Will you wash my hair?”

 _Fuck_. Why can’t he just think things without having to come to terms with their reality anymore? He almost says no, but then Sylvain looks at him with those big brown eyes—all of the light inside the irises telling him how badly he wants him to—and he sighs, squatting behind Sylvain to lather his hands before threading his fingers in Sylvain’s hair to stimulate his scalp.

Sylvain mewls, leaning back into Felix’s touch. He runs his hands over his body, not quite washing or touching himself and Felix finds the sight of it so alluring that he forces his view only onto Sylvain’s red hair. His face by now must rival it’s hue.

“Feels nice..”

Sylvain’s voice sounds distant and dreamy. It makes Felix feel a little fuzzy himself, to know he can have this effect on him. He shouldn’t bask in it, but he can’t keep a small smile from gracing his usually scowling lips. Sylvain can’t see it, so it doesn’t matter.

“I’ll do it just this once, so don’t get used to it.”

Sylvain snorts and merely relaxes more into Felix. His head is heavy with trust and the realization of it makes Felix’s stomach squirm. Sylvain is breathing at the same cadence as he is. His heat is not driving this moment. He’s consciously seeking Felix.

Felix ends it quickly by dumping a bucket of water on his head. Sylvain sputters and looks at him like he’s disrespected all of his ancestors at once and he can’t help but laugh. He does help him dry off, at least.

He’s able to convince Sylvain to nest properly afterward, but he doesn’t entirely like another compromise he needed to make in order to get it to happen.

Felix throws a bunch of his old clothing onto Sylvain’s bed and bites back a moan of approval when Sylvain happily rubs against the pile. Sylvain’s brow is furrowed in deep concentration as he goes through them, picking out the perfect pieces to compliment his nest.

Oh, Felix likes this sight too much for it to be safe. He knows it’s not okay. He knows he’s just making things harder for them in the long run. His heart already dreads their separation.

Sylvain starts by moving around pillows and sheets and layering them with fabrics until he’s created a nest more than big enough to accommodate him. When he is done, Felix’s clothes far outnumber the clothing Claude gave him, but Sylvain seems satisfied. He settles down and happily sighs, curling up into a ball to purr as he rubs his cheek against the collar of one of Felix’s shirts that he wore not that long ago.

He stares at Felix, waiting for him to come in, but that is a line Felix will not compromise on.

“I’m not your mate.”

Sylvain whimpers and buries his face into the shirt, inhaling it. He looks confused, this instinct of his heat taking over now that the haze of arousal had simmered down. Felix wonders if the combination of all the suppressants has tricked his body into thinking they’d actually mated. An Omega shouldn’t be inviting an Alpha into their nest until right before or after they’d bonded. He wasn’t sure what was supposed to happen with another Omega or a Beta.

Then again, he’d never learned about many of the things that had happened. He’s realizing now that the education they received was woefully inaccurate and underdeveloped.

Sylvain whines again, appearing to be in distress. Felix sighs and approaches the nest. He won’t come in, but he can stay closer and talk him through it.

“Sylvain, we didn’t couple or bond. I can’t knot you, nor can I be with you that way.”

He reaches out and pets Sylvain’s hair, which has dried enough that it’s not an unpleasant feeling. He doesn’t mean to, but Sylvain coos so happily that he keeps going, eventually using two hands to stroke him until he’s completely lax.

“Sorry..sorry Felix. I don’t know what came over me.”

Sylvain’s eyes are shut and his tone is neutral, but Felix can tell he’s embarrassed. Felix keeps a hand there, scrunching and scratching at his scalp lightly still.

“Don’t worry about it. You’re in heat. I said I’d watch over you. Something like that isn’t going to make me leave.”

Sylvain’s responding laugh is so fake, Felix wonders why he even bothered when he could have just cried instead. At least he could have tried to find some way to comfort him then. He doesn’t know how to break this wall down right now, or even if he should.

“Yeah…” Sylvain supplies glumly, “it’s the heat.”

It’s another lie to add to the list that is by now falling past Felix’s knees and is soon to roll upon the floor.

“What can I do? Besides coming inside?”

Sylvain is quiet long enough that Felix assumes he’s been ignored. His hand stills, threaded in the little hairs falling toward the Omega’s nape. Sylvain hums, sounding more peaceful than he has in the entire time Felix has been with him.

“Can you just..lay outside? And give me your hand?”

Felix chokes on his heart currently jumping in his chest. Why is… _why does he keep asking for all this sappy shit?_ It’s a reasonable request, he supposes. When they were younger, they would often hold hands. It was Sylvain who cut that off as soon as he started getting really serious about his flirting and didn’t want anyone to get the wrong idea that he might be into men.

Now it was Sylvain who wanted it again. There wasn’t a single cell in Felix’s body that wanted to refuse.

“Alright.”

* * *

  
The third and the fourth day were much of the same. Sylvain begged to be scented more than anything, occasionally trying to drag Felix into his nest. It was quickly soiled by him masturbating when Felix refused to come inside to help—whining pathetically as he dragged slick over some of Felix’s shirts.

It should have been disgusting and he tries to tell himself that it is, but watching Sylvain so desperate for him that he ended up coming on his clothes was doing funny things to Felix’s brain. Eventually he can’t stand to see it anymore and he pulls Sylvain to the edge of his nest to wrap his lips around his cock. After Felix has coaxed two more orgasms from him, Sylvain sleeps as if he is the dead all throughout the final night.

Felix is used to Sylvain being noisy while he dreams but the Omega doesn’t make a sound besides the occasional happy sigh as he nuzzles his nose closer into his pile of shirts. He could probably let go of his hand and move away without him noticing.

He doesn’t. Felix remains curled up as close as he dares to Sylvain’s nest, fingers intersecting fingers, feeling as if all the mistakes in the universe are held in the amalgamation of bedding and clothing that currently creates the divide between their bodies. Part of him wants to tear through it, press his naked chest upon Sylvain’s until he can feel their heartbeats synchronize. The other part of him bristles at the thought of destroying something that is so important to Sylvain. That side admonishes him for his selfishness and he cannot help but to agree with it.

Felix is starting to feel prideful when he pleases him. Making Sylvain come and seeing him content while surrounded by his scent is an incredible high that defies his understanding. He wants to take him away from all the Alphas who would dare consider mating with Sylvain—make sure that there will be nobody who ever gets to see him this way. Even Sylvain’s girls don’t get to experience this—they won’t ever if Felix has something to say about it.

All of those thoughts are so incredibly self centered, so _personal,_ that Felix _should_ feel sickened by them, but he doesn’t suffer even a single twinge of remorse. He’s kept good to his promise, his original boundary of not kissing Sylvain and not fucking him like he’s begged for this whole time, so damn it if he allows himself to feel something about it for once after four fucking days of this madness.

He inches his face as close as possible to the nest. Sylvain’s head is perched on top of a mound he’s been using as a pillow so he can comfortably look at Felix before he falls asleep. His lips are parted and Felix can feel his breath wafting over his forehead. He inhales as much of the citrus and fresh pine as he can, closing his eyes and imagining how it would actually taste if they were to bond.

Sylvain’s scent is much weaker now and his heat will likely fade by morning. It’s a good thing, of course. It’s not like he wants this to last forever. Sylvain is still suffering quite a bit even with Felix by his side. Besides, they’re needed elsewhere.

And yet… Felix is afraid of the change. He’s already had time to resign himself to his future and he thought everything would proceed without any more disturbances. Sylvain threw an unexpected wrench into that plan.

If Sylvain could be an Omega, despite a lack of family history, could it also be possible that Felix wouldn’t present as one? If he was a Beta...even an Alpha, (though he didn’t get his hopes up on that) he wouldn’t have to worry about marrying Dimitri.

Dimitri had said he’d marry him regardless of his presentation, but so what? He’d said a lot of things when he was twelve. Everyone did. He’d also murdered more people than Felix could count and would likely never catch up to—not that he’d want to.

Felix squeezes Sylvain’s hand a bit harder than he means to at the memory of Dimitri’s massacre and the Omega awakens with a slight jerk. He curses, mumbling an apology that Sylvain immediately brushes off despite being so sleepy that his mouth can barely move. He clumsily leans forward, sweeping his wrist against Felix’s and rubbing his scent on the mark of Blaiddyd.

Felix stiffens, feeling like someone has doused him with ice cold water. Nobody other than Dimitri has touched him there and he knows it’s by accident but his body recoils in a horror he can’t suppress.

Dimitri has been silent the entire time Felix has been with Sylvain after Claude removed him from the hallway, just as in all his ruts since the week he presented in the Western Rebellion. He’s not quite certain that it works that way on the other side, however, and regardless, no one should be touching their connection, much less getting their scent on it.

 _Wrong, wrong, wrong,_ his body screams at him. His muscles tense at the danger that does not exist. He pulls his hand free, his heart torn between the loss of Sylvain’s warmth and the instinctual longing to be faithful to his soulmate. Funnily enough, fucking around with his best friend during his heat hadn’t set that off like a small swipe of his wrist did.

Felix swallows, turning away from the nest and ignoring Sylvain’s whine of distress. He suddenly cannot handle facing anything but the dark expanse of the wall. It’s chilled and unyielding when he reaches out to brace his palm against it, clearing his mind of all that has plagued it in the latter half of the week.

Sylvain quiets down when Felix begins to hum a soothing melody his mother taught him when he was very young. She was a Beta who would often sit through the heats of her close friends and family members, helping them however she could. Then, she’d had him and fallen ill, and one by one they stopped visiting her until he was the only one left.

His voice is cracking with emotion and disuse, yet it seems to be enough. Sylvain’s peaceful breathing indicates he’s fallen back asleep, but Felix continues to hum, palm pressed firmly into the wall as if he could push it right through to the other side and touch something from another world that could save them from the reality of the rising dawn.

_I wish I could do right by them both—Dimitri and Sylvain._

He doesn’t dare speak it aloud, though he knows no one is listening. To speak it is to admit it and to admit it is to fall into the pit of yearning befit for a flock of fools.

When morning comes, they will have enough to address already.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am on [twitter](http://twitter.com/thefriedpipes)! Come talk more about fe3h with me 🤗


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all, It’s been a while since my last update! A lot has happened between this chapter and the last, personally, and I decided to finish my trans Felix AU before moving on to my other series. 
> 
> I sat down and brainstormed about the direction this story was going and I decided to split it up into multiple parts. I can’t foresee resolving everything I have planned without implementing the timeskip, and perhaps even a little post war epilogue. That means I may be slower with the updates, as I make sure everything comes together coherently.

The last thing Sylvain remembers clearly is inviting Felix into his bed. There was something off about how he felt, and he’d had his suspicions, but seeing Felix there in the moonlight, so concerned for his well being that he sought him out even through his own suffering made it too hard to resist his request.

Felix had actually asked him if he could stay— _Felix._

He should have been the bigger person. He should have watched over him like he always has. He didn’t have to tell him about his presentation or his inevitable heat, he could have just turned him away…

Except that he never really could do that. Felix has always been an unfortunate exception to the rule. He didn’t even have to ask—Sylvain would do all that he could to give it to him anyway. When Sylvain awoke with his heat broken and mind clear as the crisp fall day, he began to ruminate over the embarrassing slideshow of everything Felix had done for him during the past four days.

It did things to his heart that he’s not proud about.

He sighs and glances over at Felix’s still sleeping form. He’s curled up as close to the nest as he can possibly be without actually coming inside. His fingers are even poking over the corners, held out enticingly, relaxed in a way that makes Sylvain want to grab them and kiss every last inch.

Instinct doesn’t necessarily beget creation. Heat or no heat, it’s not the explanation for this or the excuse. Everything was amplified, but it was still _there_ to begin with. Not a single bit of it was a lie. He wanted Felix—in every way. He couldn’t have him. Felix couldn’t even have himself because of the world he was born into and it was so fucking unfair.

He hated it.

He grimaces while he shifts around in his nest, trying not to think about how disgusting he feels. Sylvain moves as carefully as he’s capable of, half in an attempt to not wake Felix, and half in an attempt to not rub against any more evidence of his regrettable actions.

He fails on both accounts as Felix stirs suddenly and it startles him enough to topple over in his direction. Sylvain wobbles as he tries not to bury Felix beneath him, but after days of not using his body in any kind of.. typical activity, he’s yet to regain control.

Felix gasps into his neck. Sylvain’s accidentally pinned him somewhere between vertically and horizontally so that their heartbeats are close enough to feel but, thankfully, their genitals are not touching. He’s been aware of an unpleasant and raw throbbing there that he should probably have Manuela look at. Right now, the idea of Felix touching him kinda makes him want to die—in a variety of ways.

Felix wiggles uneasily. “…get off of me, idiot.”

Sylvain groans and grabs his head. He feels dehydrated and the thought of moving now that he’s discovered the various aches and pains really doesn’t appeal to him. He rolls anyway, laying upside down with his face pointed toward the disheveled nest. Felix huffs at him, fingers lightly scrunched in the sheets as he sits on the edge of the bed and looks away.

 _Oh. So it’s already time for this…_

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry, Felix.”

He doesn’t mean to sound so guilty about it when he blurts it out, but the words burn his tongue before they sizzle in the air—heavy with a layer of confession he’d promised himself to withhold. Felix doesn’t move, yet the air clears as he sighs and Sylvain’s heart pounds just a little faster when he’s finally calm enough to focus on him.

All Felix is wearing is a pair of pants, snug and black, and covered in a copious amount of a dried substance Sylvain has become quite accustomed to by now. His hair is so loose it is practically down; The tie dangles at the back of his neck. Some of the strands are stuck to his face, while others have obviously been dirtied with sweat and stiffened with come. He never thought he’d see Felix like this. He never thought he’d be the cause of such a sight. 

Did they— did Felix full on fuck him? He doesn’t remember going that far and he’s kind of afraid to ask. He doesn’t want that to be the case. Felix isn’t just somebody he wants to fuck—he’s not… _Ugh._ He never really even wanted to fuck the people he did—and now? There’s no way in hell he’d let people here find out he was an Omega and spread that around. He hasn’t been this sexually close to people for years.

Felix raises his head and starts to shift off the bed, holding an impassive gaze at an invisible point right above Sylvain’s shoulder.

“There’s nothing to apologize for. I didn’t do anything I didn’t want to, if you’re worried about that. And I didn’t allow you to talk me into anything stupid. You know I wouldn’t.”

Sylvain nods and curls up more comfortably. He closes his eyes and allows himself a moment of relief, before opening them again to the sound of Felix shuffling back into his clothes. He coughs, meaning to call out to him, but the dryness in his throat switches the focus to _immediately searching for something to drink._

Felix doesn’t react until he’s finished dressing. He walks over to the basin and scoops some water into a small bowl, presenting it to Sylvain with what anybody else would perceive as an annoyed expression.

“Uh…” Sylvain stares into the bowl, his hands still trembling a bit and causing the liquid to shift. Is this really something he should be drinking?

“It’s clean. I refilled it last night and we didn’t use it to bathe...” Felix sniffs at himself gingerly, wrinkling his nose at what was at least a full days worth of the scent of Sylvain’s heat and all that came along with it. “Obviously.”

Heat floods Sylvain’s face as he takes in the full scent of the room. It doesn’t seem nearly as overwhelming now that his heat’s passed, but it’s unmistakable that their scents have merged together in a way that displays their intimacy.

He drinks, and the relief that comes from it centers him on the most important issue to amend.

“What am I going to do Felix? Did anyone else find out? I can’t leave smelling like this.”

Felix crosses his legs, leaning back against the desk as he gathers his nerves.

“The Boar knows, and Claude. They won’t be telling anyone; I can assure you of that.”

Sylvain yelps. _Claude knows??_ That’s definitely one of the people on his _Do Not Tell Under Any Circumstances_ list. Regardless of how close he and Dimitri were becoming, who’s to say the Golden Deer leader wouldn’t use that information to his benefit if it really came down to it?

“Felix.. I want to trust what you say, but what do we do about—this?” He gestures in a general circle around his body, and Felix reacts with a tiny, amused, hum.

“I can neutralize the scent with a salve Manuela brought until it wears off naturally. I haven’t presented yet, so it’s not going to stick the way it will with you.”

Felix glances at a yellow cape _(Claude’s?? What is it doing here?)_ over by a pile of clothing that doesn’t look like it belongs to anyone Sylvain knows well enough to recognize. “You should probably get to scenting yourself with that—if there’s still anything of his scent left.”

_Oh. Claude’s...okay with this?_

Sylvain finishes his water and ambles over to the small pile of Claude’s clothing, picking through the pieces hesitantly until Felix joins him just to yank the whole thing onto the bed. He pushes Sylvain backwards onto them with hardly any force at all, letting a little concern show on his face when he sees how easily the Omega goes and how he flinches at Felix’s touch.

He steps away, but doesn’t leave yet, and finally looks Sylvain dead on.

“I’ll tell Claude to bring more of his clothes later so you have a fresh scent. Take those other suppressants Manuela left on the desk or all of this will have been for nothing—and try to be at least a little presentable by the time he drops by.”

Felix grabs his things and makes his way to the door, turning his head to look at Sylvain one more time, his hand stuck on the knob as a softness overcomes those generally sharp amber eyes.

“Take better care of yourself next time. Make sure this doesn’t happen again.”

* * *

Ingrid complained the most about Sylvain’s absence—which was the only predictable outcome of the situation.

Mealtimes had never seemed so precarious to Sylvain, who usually directed the energy of the group and prompted the conversations. Today, it was all he could do to keep a straight face and avoid giving incriminating answers to anything they asked of him. What was stranger is that Dimitri was still absent, and Felix claimed he had no idea where he was. Nobody had a plausible guess as to where he went for his rut but his scent was too weak to trace, and there wasn’t a single clue to be gathered from the cold, dark lines of the Blaiddyd mark.

Ingrid shakes her fork at Sylvain, because for some inconceivable reason, she’s decided to hold him responsible for Dimitri’s disappearance. 

“Your room is right next to his! How could you not notice he was gone?”

Sylvain puts his hands up in an act of surrender, leaning away from the tines and causing Felix to jolt when he brushes back against his shoulder. He looks extra pissed at everything, but other than that, so far, he’d appeared to have no problem holding up the farce on his end. Sylvain sighs, gesturing at Ingrid to lower her voice when he spies the students around them turning their faces in interest.

“Calm down, Ingrid!” 

He grabs at his chest perhaps a little too enthusiastically—but hey, it’s what she’s come to expect of him, and he really needed to lean into his usual characteristics. He runs his hand across the spot that everyone knows is the length of Miklan’s final punishment and winces when he reaches his ribs. It didn’t hurt—not physically, at least, but it was recent enough that he could summon the memory of it. “I wasn’t really in the position to go after him.” He mumbles the last bit.

A layer of genuine concern softens her chiding. He looks down and away from everyone, focusing on Felix’s fingers, which are tensed beside his on the table. They were so close, not even a second would have to pass before they were wrapped around his again, but he knows the possibility of that happening is slim. Sylvain wouldn’t bet his life on it—and he’s run toward the probability of death on what feels like much less.

The sorrow that must mark his face at the thought is easily misconstrued as the painful repercussions of last month’s mission. It’s easy for people to believe what they’ve already decided is real, rather than the actual truth—Sylvain knows.

Annette grabs his right arm. Her little voice trembles with a spark of encouragement. He allows a small smile in return. It’s so fake that everyone has to have seen through him, but nobody calls him out on it. Mercedes leans around Annette and cranes her face, expressive pale eyes promising sweets and an open invitation to talk about his concerns anytime. He appreciates the sentiment from her, because she’s one of the few women he’s beginning to trust, but it’s impossible to confide in anyone about this. There’s no one, not even Felix, that he can open up to completely. He wouldn’t burden any of his friends with the web of lies he’s been weaving since before any of them had presented and submitted to the future that lay ahead of them.

With Sylvain still somewhat mopey and occupied, Ingrid turns her pestering on Felix instead.

“You’ve been even quieter than usual over there Felix. His Highness’s crest may not be giving you much information, but surely you have some idea of what’s going on?”

Felix scowls. The atmosphere around him is darker than what is typical and Sylvain guesses that even with their separation, Dimitri’s rut must be affecting him inadvertently. He considers scooting away and giving him space but something in the sideways glare Felix gives him keeps him rooted to the spot. Truthfully, there is nothing more that he’d rather do than pick him up and carry him back to his bed—stick his nose tight into the crook of Felix’s neck and breathe in his scent.

His heart flutters in his chest and he doesn’t want to chance giving himself away by his inconstant breathing, so Sylvain sticks a large bite of fish into his mouth, purposefully making himself choke a little so he can pound at the spot where everything aches and gain some more sympathetic attention from Annette and Mercedes.

Felix rolls his eyes and spits out a longer than expected reply, looking down at his hardly touched meal. 

“I don’t care about where the beast spends his ruts right now, and neither should you. It’s nobodies business what he does as long as he’s been contained properly. What we all should be doing is focusing on the complications of our own presentations and preparing accordingly so we won’t be vulnerable when it hits.”

Ingrid blinks, and scrunches her shoulders as a reluctant admittance of the wisdom of his words. Mercedes nods seriously, having already experienced a heat at the monastery a few months ago, and Annette tips her head in contemplation, no doubt already going through the comprehensive lists she’d compiled on dynamics, though she’d yet to present like the majority of the other students.

There is an uncomfortable silence that follows. Sylvain takes the distraction as an opportunity to eat, unsure of how much he will be able to keep down, but feeling ravenous all the same after all of the energy extended during his heat. He still does honestly have some lingering side effects from the old suppressants overlapping with the new ones prescribed by Manuela. Other than the nausea, everything else was comparatively tolerable. These suppressants worked well, and Claude’s scent was strong enough to cover anything the pills didn’t. Most of the students hadn’t even developed a nose sharp enough to notice Claude’s claim. With Flayn missing, and Seteth raving around, there weren’t many unrelated rumors that he’d heard of crop up.

He’d seen enough curious glances from the Black Eagles to know that he wasn’t entirely invisible, however. Edelgard and Hubert, both Alphas, had stared rather blankly when he passed by them whispering outside her room on the second floor. Dorothea raised her eyebrow at him and giggled as she passed while he waited in line to pick up his breakfast. Her instincts were rather developed for being a Beta; Sylvain supposes that was a byproduct of what she’d gone through growing up on the streets and who she’d come across during her training at the Mittlefrank Opera Company.

As far as the Golden Deer house was concerned, Hilda wouldn’t actually make him explain anything, though it might be a little awkward to continue flirting with the retainer of the person he smelled intimately of. He’d do whatever it took to avoid running into Lorenz on a normal occasion—and it was even more poignant of a determination now.

He didn’t prioritize anyone else as an immediate threat. These were the people who could influence politics that affected the Kingdom—or get someone else involved that would. As long as nothing too accusatory made its way back to Duke Fraldarius or his father, the entire school could speculate about how he’d _proposed_ to Claude for all he cared. There were enough puzzle pieces to arrange on the table as it was.

Ingrid, astute as ever, cleaned her plate in no time, and broke the stream of his musings with another observation, like she’d read his mind. She leans forward, urging him to do the same, and speaks so lowly he almost loses track of the consonants.

“I haven’t seen Claude much in the past few days. I’ve been told that he helped you and Felix with your recoveries.”

Felix stiffens beside him so momentarily that Sylvain is almost convinced he imagined it. Nobody else at the table gives any indication of following her implication, and Sylvain chooses to ignore it.

“Yeah, he did. After Dimitri, he’s the closest person to our rooms so he would drop in on us to make sure we were okay, give us some food and water, a few jokes here and there—you know.”

The answer carries casually, even at the low volume. Internally, he’s anxious as hell, waiting for the right moment to break away from the group without rousing more suspicion. He’ll have to be careful navigating this subject for a while to come. Ingrid’s one of his oldest friends and she knows—like Dimitri and Felix do—that Sylvain’s voice is one of the last things to give the truth away.

Her hands come forward to rest on the table, laying palms down past the position of the cutlery and closer than Sylvain would appreciate them being. “That’s awfully kind of him. Perhaps too kind. Are you sure he wasn’t getting anything out of this?”

He retreats slightly, folding his hands together and rubbing his thumbs in a pretense of bemused innocence. “Uhhh not sure what you’re trying to imply there, Ingrid.”

The action only irritates her again. _Oops._ “You know exactly what I’m trying to imply, _Sylvain._ If you’re having… relations with the leader of the Golden Deer that could reflect quite poorly on our house—on house Gautier as a matter of fact! Your father—“

Sylvain hisses, shushing her immediately. His eyes turn deadly, flames licking at the edges instead of their usual sunny demeanor. He snaps, a wall crumbling before the entire table, and revealing some of the bitterness he tries so hard to bury behind it.

“Don’t bring him into this! What I’m doing is none of his business and, honestly? It’s none of yours either.”

An acrid scent burns so potently in the air that it’s drawing attention from the other students again. It’s from him. He knows it is. He doesn’t even care, and that’s his cue to leave. 

Screw manners. Screw secrets. Screw all of this. They have no idea what he’s gone through and he doesn’t owe them any more information. If they could help him, he’d understand the urgency, but they can’t—and he can’t stick around to deal with the pressure of that reality any longer.

“I’m going to see the Professor. Please—don’t bring this up anymore.”

* * *

The Professor, at least, doesn’t pry. She doesn’t treat him any differently, though Sylvain has a hunch that she’s aware of something bigger than a training mishap going on under the surface.

That isn’t to say he particularly enjoys his meetings with her. He’d rather not be studying reason right now; his mind just isn’t up for it with how much it’s already swimming with introspection. She won’t let him train with any weapons, however, until he gets the go ahead from Manuela. So, Sylvain focuses on the bright orange ball of fire that’s currently licking at the corners of his palm. The basic spell doesn’t hurt anymore, though it took him months to figure out how to prevent the burns that still marred his skin. It wasn’t a very attractive sight for the ladies when he’d bend to kiss their hand, but it was no worse than what he’d picked up from years of sparring with a spear.

None of that bothers him now. His reputation is too well known to continue chasing after just any woman. Even if he did keep up the pretense, no one would accept his advances. Sylvain knows that’s a good thing, even if he doesn’t like to admit it. He’s tempted fate enough lately.

“Good effort Sylvain. Keep it flickering at that level. Sustaining small bursts of magic is much more difficult than releasing it on a large scale. It requires a deeper focus and intimate knowledge of your limits.”

Sylvain sweats as Byleth studies him, trying to ignore the heat that has nothing to do with the flame his body is producing rising to his cheeks. His Professor’s blank eyes have a way of unnerving him like no woman ever has before. Just looking at her face made him want to confess everything; It felt like he would only be confirming what she’s already aware of. Even his mother couldn’t bring forth that kind of reaction in him.

He concentrates instead on the humming he hears that is, what he’s come to discover, his connection with the magic coursing through his veins, both eyes squinting at the indistinct shape that sits so seemingly innocuous in his hand. He’s a son of Gautier; He’s known how to start and maintain a fire since he was a child. Without it, there’d be no protection in the wilderness of his lands. He’d already learnt his lesson regarding _contain_ and _control_ by burning his cloak on the rising red tendrils more times than he could count before the decade marking his day of birth had come.

It’s different now. He’s wise enough to remove everything that’s at risk of burning before he tries, but it’s still dangerous. He’s learning this not because it will keep him alive in the shelter of caves after he’s spent the day with the hound dogs hunting, but because it will be another skill to add to his list of how to efficiently kill. It’s another duty he loathes. This one he can’t mask with slick words and the illusion of scent marking. There’s no suppressing the way of Faerghus nobility.

Sylvain yelps as the flame jumps in response to his heightened emotions and sears a few of his fingertips. Byleth’s own fingers wrap around his shoulder in support and he nods at her, before returning to the task. Her hand is small, yet heavy, and strong enough to wield the Sword of the Creator with ease. He wasn’t sure why or who she really was yet, but she seemed to have the conviction to accept her destiny, so why couldn’t he?

It wasn’t the same. She’s still like the rest of them—she couldn’t understand. Why should he have to accept his life and his death as two sides of the same coin, constantly spinning in variability throughout the air? The Goddess passed out crests, and bloodlines, and dynamics like it was her own self inflicted duty—pressed them into his blind, unsuspecting, fist before he’d raised his very first wailing to the heavens. Felix, Ingrid, and Dimitri too. They’d all suffered more than they should ever have to under her supposed security.

He’s attended enough royal parties to see that some gifts aren’t given with the greatest of intentions, nor are they received with the proper knowledge and consent. Infants grasp the first thing they come in contact with upon instinct alone. He’s an adult now; He shouldn’t be that helpless anymore—but he is.

Byleth leans over the crook of his arm and blows the flame in his palm out like it is as simple as a candle dying by the last inch of it’s weathered wick.

“I think it’s time for a break. Get some water and meet me here again in ten minutes. We’ll cover faith next.”

 _Hah._ He thinks to himself. _There’s a topic to discuss._

* * *

Nosferatu, as it turned out, wasn’t a difficult concept to grasp. Keeping yourself alive by draining the force from others was a behavior he’d acclimated to long ago. For all her skill with the sword, his professor was lacking in resistance, and when they practiced the spell on one another, he actually felt as if he was slowly gaining the upper hand.

He’d have kept going until they were both weak and pale and beyond the point of on the verge of passing out. He didn’t even realize it until she’d come forward, breathing shallowly and raising her hand to cast Recover on him instead. Sylvain helped her sit down as soon as he regained his senses, casting his own Heal at the crown of her head in a cold sweat. He’d never considered how taxing white magic could be on the body. There’s too much he’s come to underestimate, hitting him all at once.

“Do you see now?” Byleth asks as he lifts her onto her feet. “The Priests and Bishops are prioritized by the enemy for a reason. It’s not because they’re weak. The strategic placement of your healers gives them the advantage and is fundamental to the survival of your team. Once they gain certain abilities, with the right spell equipped and the aid of terrain, they can hold their own until backup arrives.”

The corners of her eyes are a little narrowed and her lips more thinned than usual. He’s learning to read the little signs that are there. Sylvain always was a quick study when it came to emotions—he had no other choice. He didn’t foresee it would serve him this way, though.

She grabs her cloak and indicates for him to walk with her out of the training grounds and in the direction of her room. Her face has a gentleness to it when it’s bathed in the glow of the sunset. She continues to lecture even as they stop, mere feet from her door. 

“With how often the four of you especially run straight into combat, it’s important that you deeply understand at least the core elements of how to protect and defend with white magic. The trust is already there, so the expertise will follow—you just need to lean into it.” 

With a sentence like that, now is the time where she’d probably expect him to make a move on her—but he doesn’t. Something in her stance and the way she’s looking at him melts that particular facade. This is the face that Felix must see before he stumbles into the dining hall, exhausted, yet sated, from a successful round of instruction. Sylvain can’t tease him about it anymore. He can’t ignore the care and the thought she’s put into meeting the specific needs of every student in her class. He has the same urge as the rest of them now—to surpass her expectations.

He bids her farewell instead. There’s no wink—no bow to kiss her hand. Sylvain doesn’t linger, but lost in better thoughts he finds himself climbing the stairs to the second floor dorms. The hallway is darkened at the moment, with the sun low enough to be obstructed by the greenhouse, but the priests not yet arrived to light the torches. The long stretch ahead of him starts off silent and he’s grateful for it. If there is anyone who decided to forgo dinner and return to their room as he did, they remain private about it.

The silence doesn’t last. It never does. Sylvain intends to mind his business, with enough of his own to contemplate tonight, but the noise is so familiar to him—so heartbreaking—that he eagerly picks up his pace.

He wrings his hands in indecision as he goes. He’s positive that’s his Highness who is crying. Sylvain still struggles with hesitation as soon as he’s approached far enough to hone in clearly on it. It’s easy to follow. It’s nothing he hasn’t heard before. There’s just one difference this time, and it just so happens to be something that becomes quite the future problem.

The sound is coming from Claude’s room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am on [twitter](http://twitter.com/thefriedpipes)! Come talk more about fe3h with me 🤗


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!! I am including content warnings here for a description of violence in the third scene and slight sexual content in the final scene of this chapter!
> 
> As always, thank you all for your kudos and comments, and your continued interest in this story! ❤️

Dimitri returns, and he is never the same.

It’s a prophecy that fulfills itself over and over again. Every time Felix sees him—truly sees him—it’s as if he’s sprouted yet another head with a face he knows nothing about. The Boar Prince’s thoughts only become more chaotic with the progression of tragedies even the authority of the church cannot quell. Felix can do nothing more to draw the poison out of the well. He does not drink from it, but finds that even the pursing of his lips cannot prevent the toxic waste from dribbling into the corners of his mouth. It erodes all semblance of control from his being. Once, he was a Queen, then a shield, now—a sword.

He would gladly wander as such—far off to places his father only mentioned when they spoke of conquering. The tart berries of Albinea bloom into being when he places them, one by one, onto his plate—dreaming of the cold wasteland like it is the hearth fate denied him. It isn’t his intention to find warmth where he goes. Warmth doesn’t spell safety. He and Dimitri—they were born into this winter together.

No matter the seasons, nobles never seem to understand how to settle things without first fighting over them. A spear in the hands of a child is the future of Faerghus. Diplomacy through deceit is the promise of the Alliance. The Adrestian Empire shelters their own antiquated shadows. And so, there is not a single place in Fodlan that knows how to fetter their self destruction. Felix can only watch as the ramshackle dam built to endure an impossible flood begins to collapse.

Flayn was found—alive, but not unharmed. Dimitri was not there to witness the Death Knight— _Jeritza, Felix suspected as much—_ and Felix is certain he wasn’t the only one grateful for that. Sylvain, like the irresponsible fool everyone knows he is, set off on his horse with only Ashe as backup—forcing Mercedes to overexert herself with Physic. He found the switch to deactivate the traps and met back up with them, but Felix spent far too much energy thinking about Sylvain being slashed through the same spot Miklan mutilated to be a true asset to the rest of the team.

_It’s just the adrenaline. Focus._

Sylvain might think he can cover his scars with a smile, but Felix can never forget them. Visible and invisible, Felix ghosted his fingers over them, gentle as he’s ever been in his life, while he slept through the lulls of his heat haze. That was more than a full moon ago and it still kept him up at night—wondering—waiting for the inevitable again. How well would these suppressants work, as long as Sylvain had spent altering his chemistry with the others? Felix wasn’t certain he could help him if it hit again—the temptation to take him as if he were his own was formidable…

“You’re distracted, Felix.”

The clang of steel smells too close for comfort and Felix instinctively attempts to jump away from it, even though his eyes haven’t completely caught up to his surroundings. He slams his shoulder into a pillar, sucking in a shaky breath at the pain. Professor Byleth’s eyes are impassive as always. Her posture gives away most of her emotions. Right now, he’s a mere moment from total annihilation.

The sword suspends, not quite at the point of his neck. She’s searching for something inside of him—always is.

“It’s not like you.”

Felix doesn’t appreciate being cornered into conversations like this. He doesn’t run toward or from the truth, but he will admit to it when he finds it laid unto his path.

“It’s not.” He allows. “Sorry.”

She raises her eyebrow, but doesn’t lower the sword. He’s used to this behavior by now. Byleth knows how ill his reaction would be if she were to merely let him free after winning the advantage like this. He’s perfectly capable of slipping away.

He feints with the steel, quickly throwing it to whiz past her ear and clatter against the wall. A thunder spell crackles to life in his hands and he ducks as she retaliates with her sword, wincing at all of sparks decorating his skin with permanent latticework. He’s able to widen his distance again, but his hands throb painfully with the overuse of magic beyond his control and there’s not much he can do to attack or defend with them until they’ve healed.

She senses it before he does, and sheathes her weapon, coming to inspect the damage. Her hands are freezing—colder than the waters at Gautier he would so often sneak off with Sylvain to. Frost bit through gloves in the wintertime while they huddled together, rubbing over the worn fur-lined leather. He doesn’t want to think of it. He pulls his burnt fingernails away from her—from opening the wounds.

She frowns, but doesn’t comment on it. 

“Sylvain burnt his fingers during our session as well. His reason could use some work, as could yours.”

Felix’s eyes wander to the gilded doors, wishing to disappear through them. He doesn’t want to be compared to anyone. There’s a lifetime of worship he can’t ignore ahead of him. 

“I don’t need to learn magic.” He decides on. “I’m better with gauntlets and swords.”

No reaction. She’s working for a phrase that he won’t immediately brush off. Felix has learned to recognize it. A heavier blink comes before every confident assertion.

“I believe there’s hidden potential in the two of you.”

Felix gives a dry hum, moving away from her already.

“Hand me a bow if you will. I don’t want to practice spells with a buffoon.”

He makes a point of caring for his weapon, dragging the process out, before putting it away and tidying the area he cluttered. He shouldn’t linger to hear any more of her propositions. Their session is over. Linhardt is already coming, yawning and dispassionate about being dragged from a nap by Caspar to study something he could accomplish at his bedside.

“I won’t make you do anything you don’t want to, but consider it. There are many enemies in this world with unexpected defenses. It’s my job to help you bring them down.”

* * *

Unfortunately for Felix, nothing in this wretched place remains avoidable. The Battle of the Eagle and Lion encroaching requires engaging in the last thing he desires at any given time—open communication.

Dimitri sees fit to interrupt his tea with Claude to find him in the courtyard, already stewing over his first, and regrettably not last, combined reason lesson with Sylvain. Try as he might, he couldn’t imitate the flames of a simple damned fire spell. Sylvain’s cocky smile had him sparking his fingertips in a warning until Byleth’s firm hand on his chest broke his snarl. Everything about Sylvain, his teasing words, his pleasing scent, his stupid face, the memory of entwining fingers just outside of his nest—all of it was too much to handle politely. Felix had been more volatile ever since they woke up in the same bed. It was getting difficult to quiet certain instincts boiling beneath his skin—and that was without the aid of the always simmering Blaiddyd mark bearing the reminder of Dimitri’s rage.

“Felix? May I have a word?”

“No.” _There’s one. Now go._

Dimitri shifts uncomfortably—as if this hasn’t been the majority of their interactions since they broke down everything they’d held back from one another over tea. Dimitri knows not to disturb him while he’s like this. His uneasiness invades Felix, overwhelming him and rousing him from his seat.

“I wish to apologize for how I behaved—when you confided in me about Sylvain.”

Felix shushes him, leery eyes seeking anyone nearby who might read too honestly into their words. He turns without responding and walks away, knowing Dimitri will follow him to a safer area where they can hold their conversation.

Dimitri continues to mutter under his breath as they go. Felix blocks it out. It’s nonsense—he can tell by the way his wrist twitches. He’s long known how it feels when Dimitri is visited by his dead. He could almost say they visit him as well, though they do not call his name.

Dimitri’s room smells less offensive now, with the man himself having acclimated Felix’s nose to the earthy musk as he accompanied him to it. Felix has avoided it since Sylvain’s heat started. The torch outside has long since been replaced, but he cannot forget how it sounded when everything shattered and all he could do to fix the problem was to turn his back to it. He pushes the door open, staring at the royal blue throw at the foot of Dimitri’s bed while he gathers his nerves and steps in.

“I don’t blame you, if that’s what this is about.” He says immediately after he shuts it behind them. Dimitri moves to sit on the throw, cheeks in his hands, staring straight ahead while he worries his lip to the point of bleeding.

“I have been…visiting Claude.”

Felix scoffs. “We’ve all known that for a while now.”

The tension of Dimitri’s hesitation over the confession is palpable. Felix stands awkwardly, unsure of what to do. Dimitri appears as if he is on the cusp of coming unraveled no matter what happens. For now, they wait, listening to the bare branches as they beat against the window under the assault of ruthless winds—signaling the height of the Red Wolf Moon.

“I do not mean for tea.”

A particularly large branch thuds, having snapped from its position on the tree. Dimitri startles, paling—breaking his concentration to follow the sound. He’s sick over something that’s likely to be more annoying to Felix than it is alarming.

“I have been…visiting Claude…at night, when I cannot sleep—or when I am plagued by a particularly gruesome dream. Sometimes, I stay until morning.”

Dimitri twiddles his thumbs, looking at his hands as if he expects to be chastised. It’s tiring Felix just to watch him. He groans lowly, torn between the urge to leave and attempt to appease him. He’s not gotten any better at the latter, but the pull is still active. He settles for edging a little closer and leaning against the wall by his bed. They aren’t touching, but Dimitri can feel the weight of his presence there. It should be enough for both of them.

Dimitri didn’t pry about what he had done with Sylvain after they returned. It doesn’t cost him anything to give Dimitri the same privacy. 

“I’m not your keeper, Boar. Remember what you said. Our relationship is a matter of political agreement.”

Dimitri makes a muted choking noise, looking to Felix with widened eyes. Felix can sense them, even if his chin is angled up at the ceiling. Their hearts connected—a pang of longing for a person that should not inhabit such a sacred space flutters. Dimitri knows, as Felix does, whom the undulations belong to. 

“I—alright. If you are certain…I would not hesitate to stop if you were to ask it of me. You are important to me, Felix. Despite our complexities—I wish for your happiness.”

Felix lets his hand hang low, less than a foot away from the place where Dimitri sits, looking up at him like he still doesn’t understand why he isn’t being punished. It’s far too telling. He doesn’t need to add to the already suffocating atmosphere with his own shitty mood when their suffering is the same.

Leaning closer, Felix finally lowers his face. 

“Wishing for my happiness is a wasted effort. You can do as you please. I won’t stop you.”

He holds their gaze longer than Dimitri is prepared for. There is something that shifts in his soulmate’s eyes—soft blues that harden to sapphires and try to drag Felix into his depths. He restrains the urge to tremble as he recalls the twisted madness of the rebellion. That Dimitri had retreated, but had not truly gone anywhere. It was only a matter of time before it surfaced again. The next time it happens, there will be so much more to consider.

He thinks of Sylvain—already in such a precarious situation. If Dimitri were to snap into a rut and fall feral, he’s unsure if he’d be able to keep him safe.

Dimitri suddenly reaches for him, brushing his fingers against the back of his hand. A shiver runs through them—something cold and unsought—yet desperate to live. Felix cannot find the will to look away, to pull away—to leave. Dimitri’s bloodied lip trembles with words that he cannot spit out, but Felix knows enough of it to fill them in. He wraps his fingers back around Dimitri’s and brushes their wrists in the most intimate gesture they’ve shared with each other in the many months of continuous complications.

Dimitri squeezes—once—before he retracts with an even guiltier expression when Felix grimaces from the pressure. “I cannot do as I please… but I thank you all the same.”

“Hmmph.” Felix nods, wringing his hand out as stealthily as he can manage. Dimitri doesn’t mention it, preferring to slip back into whatever gloomy thoughts occupy his head. They remain there, on the verge of exodus, until Felix finally draws himself away, silently passing through the doorframe as if he were another one of Dimitri’s dead.

* * *

He shouldn’t worry about them so much, Felix decides, once the Battle of the Eagle and the Lion commences. There were more important things that required his attention—namely, the damned Princess of Brigid who seemed to be the only person in the entire school who could dodge his attacks like they were frozen molasses on the back of a snail.

Petra’s footwork is like something from a dream. He’s never seen anything like it. Brigid might be a place to consider visiting, if he could really kid himself about going the mercenary route. She spends as little of her strength in her counterattacks as possible, retaining enough energy to dodge with ease. It’s impressive. Felix has a collection of bruises and little cuts that didn’t exist a couple of minutes ago, but Petra is untouched. He’s left panting from unnecessary exertion and anger.

He’s not calm. He’s unfocused. Sylvain and Dimitri call to him from opposite sides of the field. He should be able to ignore it. He should be able to.

Dimitri is contained—for now. He’s currently cutting through the middle with Dedue at his side to restrain him if he were to lose face to his rage. Sylvain is, well, Sylvain. He went with Byleth on horseback to the Northwest as soon as they began, creeping toward where Claude had gathered his deer to conceal themselves in the foliage. He’ll probably end up getting hurt again, but it will be okay. The fight was monitored and the medics were on close standby. No one would be dying today.

 _Not today..._ The thought trails off ominously. Felix swallows it—a bitter taste in his chest blooms. It feels the way Hubert’s disgusting acidic bean water smells when he lets the odor waft through the dining hall during his chilly morning strolls.

Petra flicks her braid to the side as she turns her body just enough to avoid what would have been a blow to her ribs. Felix had sheathed his sword, opting for training gauntlets to try and maximize his speed. It still wasn’t enough. He bites his tongue hard and draws blood in his frustration.

“You will not be underestimating me! Edelgard has been counting on our victory!”

Felix grumbles some response that’s not even coherent to his own mind and throws his gauntlets to sink somewhere in the mud. With a bloodshot expression, he steps beyond the fencing and runs to the trees at the upper East side of the field. Petra is in close pursuit, but he doesn’t plan to let her get there ahead of him.

As soon as he’s within range, he brings his palms together, concentrating the energy within his body to spark at the fingertips until there’s a current big enough to release. She tenses, prepared to avoid the thunder spell, but Felix merely smirks and continues to form the small ball of sparks into a deadly circlet of lightning as he plows ahead.

He jumps and turns as he reaches the edge of the trees, releasing it straight into the bark at an angle he’s certain will cause it to catch flame.

Petra leaps back in shock, temporarily distracted by the spectacle. The flames lick strong and high through the branches almost immediately—the dry wood of the Autumn air combusting at a rate that was far faster than he expected. Felix follows the path upward, pointed straight toward the place where he knows Dimitri will be confronting Edelgard.

“Your battalion!” He screams, knowing Dimitri will already be giving his command. “Send them over here to stop her!”

He didn’t have his own—a stupid thing to bring with you into battle. He wasn’t opposed to giving orders, but he hated sticking around to see them carried out. It’s bothersome to take responsibility for the lives of so many others when he has plenty of problematic people to worry about already. It gets in the way of his concentration—of his relationship with the sword and the thrill of personal victory…

…But, he needs to slow Petra down. If he and Dimitri were to take on Edelgard together, they would win. They could end this battle quickly, provided Byleth kept to her end of the strategy—and she will.

The roar of the foot soldiers pass through him, causing a disturbance he can feel in the chaos close behind. He doesn’t stop to look and see if it worked. If it didn’t, Petra would have surely caught up to him by now.

“Dimitri!” Felix calls, hoping that the sound of his given name as opposed to the scathing nicknames he so often uses will regather his attention. Dimitri blinks, one hand gripping his wrist like he scarcely believes it is attached to him and pulls his eyes away from Edelgard to watch as Felix finishes approaching the cleared area.

“How cute.” He hears Edelgard taunting. “Your soulmate has come to try and team up with you, thinking that together you can defeat me.”

Felix growls, hating the simpering tone in her voice. Dimitri regards her coldly, lance poised as if he would like nothing more than to impale her through the throat. A chill like a premonition almost breaks Felix out of his stance. He can’t place it, but he doesn’t like it. He draws his sword, nodding to Dimitri, trying his best to remain composed. Dimitri’s mind is fuzzy—it’s how he gets before he has a flashback, and Felix would really rather not have to deal with it on a battlefield—mock or not.

He comes at her from the right side, expecting Dimitri to fall to the left, but the Prince barrels ahead, eyes glinting with something so secret and dangerous only Felix is likely to catch it. Felix blinks, and it is gone, but the shock remains, causing his attack to fail. Edelgard parries the Prince’s charge, forcing Dimitri back to stumble further into his agitation.

The behavior was strange—Dimitri had never before acted differently than what they’d decided on without running it by Felix first. Even if they hadn’t the time to talk, they should be able to sense what one another would do.

Not this time. Felix can’t even begin to follow. Dimitri is a swirling mass of unsettled instincts warring with emotional instability. His protectiveness over his soulmate stands out among them, spurring him to act carelessly. It pisses Felix off. He doesn’t need this. It might cost them the victory.

“What the hell are you doing Boar? You can’t just rush in! She’s not as weak as she looks.”

Edelgard laughs at their short-lived spat, and goads them again. It feels like a hammer to his chest. Felix fights the urge to do exactly as Dimitri had, despite ripping into him about it mere moments ago. He locks eyes with her in a challenge. It’s beyond the pride of their class and the thrill of a good fight. This is personal now.

He steps close into Dimitri’s space, not acknowledging the way he flinches despite Felix being the person his heart, mind, and body trust more than anything in this world. A small whisper of cooperation is shared between them before they tackle her together, each opting for a different combat art Byleth had trained them for in this moment.

Felix manages to get behind Edelgard, low to the ground, aiming for her legs with a Wrath Strike while Dimitri uses his Blaiddyd strength to pierce her upper body. He cuts just deep enough at the back of the knee to make her fall forward into the Tempest Lance. 

The exhilaration of the moment is, unfortunately, temporary. Felix raises himself to share a rare moment of gratitude with Dimitri and stops cold at what he sees.

Edelgard’s fall was incomplete—stopped by the lance that exited her somewhere between the front of her ribs and her back. She sways in the air as Dimitri lifts her, drooling spit tinged with blood. The Boar Prince grins as he twists the lance, causing her to choke in pain. A very concerning crunch accompanies the movement as she struggles to find enough air to cough a plea for help. Felix blanches at the way her body shakes, limbs convulsing in an attempt to grasp on to anything that would help her steady herself.

“Fuck—fucking stop it! What are you doing..? We’ve already won..”

Felix’s voice sounds weak and distant as he falters in his demand. The medics are racing over the hill, as well as Byleth and Dedue, but he doesn’t know if they’ll get there in time to make a difference. He reaches out toward Edelgard tentatively, afraid that if he actually attempts to free her Dimitri will somehow find a way to snap her in half. He doesn’t want her to die—of course not. He’s watched Dimitri kill before, but never so close up like this, not so slowly and deliberately. The rebellion was quick and overwhelming—it was hard to take in everything that was truly happening.

He realizes now just how much subtle cruelty he missed. The Dimitri who is a merciless beast is undeniably here. The Dimitri who garners pleasure from causing pain to anyone who reminds him too clearly of his dead lives. Edelgard has done nothing that he knows of to deserve this. Whatever scapegoat she’s serving doesn’t matter. Felix feels as helpless as she is as he’s glued to the spot where he quivers uselessly. Soulmate or not, alone, he cannot hope to stop Dimitri as he is.

Tears litter the dirt at their feet. It’s his, he realizes first, then Dimitri’s. It’s a peculiar sight—the stream rolling past razor sharp Alpha canines gritting in a snarl as he pulls his lips back—the sorrow of seeing a familiar, zealous world collapse in front of you over and over again. The Dimitri who is a boy watching the charred corpses of his loved ones removed from the castle with the blood of his soulmate’s brother still staining the collar of his shirt is found there. He’s screaming, and only Felix can hear it. Only Felix can scream with him—but he doesn’t. Not a single sound passes between them. They only share the silence of suffering.

Once the medics arrive, Byleth, along with Dedue, manage to pull Dimitri away from Edelgard without maiming her further in the process. Felix sticks to his spot, staring stonily at the mixture of fluids on the ground. It is only when Sylvain arrives on his horse, dismounting and pulling Felix into a hug, that he reacts.

Felix grips him back, tightly, not caring how much he will regret it later. The salty sting of tears on his cheeks is further agitated by the swipe of the dented armor Sylvain still hasn’t removed. It’s the best thing he’s felt against his skin since Sylvain’s feverish fingers laced in his, begging him for any pleasure he saw fit to give. Sylvain and his stupid, stupid hands, and his irksome words and his too big heart that he only ever seems to save for moments like these.

“Hey, hey—it’s okay. She’s alive. Dimitri is talking with Seteth back at the monastery.”

Felix makes an embarrassing admission at the last sentence—a distressed whine that burns his throat worse than the vomit he’d been restraining. The pressure of Sylvain’s cooled torso can’t completely relieve it, but it helps. It’s the only thing that does, he thinks. 

“I’m here now. Come back with me?”

Felix hates horses. He hates death and situations where no matter how prepared he’s come, he loses. He doesn’t hate Sylvain, despite how hard he’s tried and how often he claims to—so he goes.

* * *

Felix forgoes dinner, and refuses to allow Sylvain anywhere near his room, where he intends to spend the evening running through some of his katas in privacy. Dimitri is to spend the night in the same isolation where he went for his rut. Byleth tells him that Manuela gave him herbs to soothe his disposition, but he doesn’t want to waste any more energy telling them that it’s pointless. Herbs can’t heal those who are already dead. They can only garnish the corpse to try and make it appear less sobering.

He’s shaking with a rage that isn’t his own, and an unusual energy that won’t be released no matter how many times he runs through the familiar patterns. His sword trembles in his grasp as the sweat drips from his forehead, but the majority of the heat remains coiled in his gut.

He feels disgusting. This shouldn’t be happening right now. He just watched his soulmate toy with their classmate’s body— _his friend_ —Felix reminds himself— _Edelgard spent a year with Dimitri during his childhood; I remember from his letters—_ like it was an inconsequential doll only a few feet separated from him. His own body shouldn’t be reacting in anything other than a horrified barricade.

His pants are too tight. He thinks of Sylvain’s hands, pulling his cock out, giving it a firm, practiced stroke—mouthing at his neck—the Omega’s body burning against his as he whines and pleads for Felix to pleasure him—finally burying all of his aches into that heat. Felix palms himself, groaning, feeling damp and dirty and unable to cull the call.

_Stop. Your form is sloppy. Breathe slowly. Refocus._

Felix does just that, placing his sword to the side with more force that is necessary. He runs his fingers through his hair, breathing too heavily for the amount of practice he’d fit in. He looks to the west wall where Dimitri’s room lies between his and Sylvain’s, the slight scent of his soulmate’s musk leaking through and clinging to the sheets he nestles under. His sense of smell was maturing faster, as well as some other unfavorable instincts. Soon he’d wake up, wet and too warm and writhing, as Sylvain did, but there would be no one there to help him.

His thoughts, and the unwelcome demands of his body, are gouging him with talons too thick to rip away without some aftercare. He’ll just deal with this quickly, then. A bath and bed, then he can wake early, assuming he got any rest at all, and train properly before anyone comes to the training grounds.

His fingers tuck into the waistband of his pants and trace the outline of his smalls, pulling them south.

He’s interrupted by a knock on the door. It’s insistent, and were he not in such a dour mood, so torn over what he was about to do, he would tell them to fuck off and then ignore it.

Instead, he yanks it open, snarling. He hardly has time to react before his face is shoved into the unyielding muscle of a familiar wide chest. Felix sputters and tries to punch his way out of the embrace, but stops when his wrist is grabbed and a thumb is pressed firmly into the Blaiddyd mark.

He falls limp, gasping into the arms of his visitor. This has never happened, he’s never…it’s not that he’s weak. It’s an intoxication he can’t fight—he doesn’t want to fight.

“Felix.” Dimitri says, sultry and worn low into an oblivion that he’s never heard before. “You’re close.”

He is. He feels feverish. It’s not the exercise. It’s not the stress of the earlier ordeal or the expected strain of battle. His presentation is nigh. It’s unavoidable now.

Dimitri is an inveterate cage that he wants to curl up inside of. It’s confinement, but it’s the only divined place he can rest. The Prince whispers in his ear, softer than Felix had ever imagined this moment arriving.

“I can smell you. Your desire—is it merely born of my own?”

Felix nearly whines. The blood in his body pulses actively at the question. He wants to pounce, to make Dimitri submit. He wants Dimitri to refuse it—to tear into one another. He craves it—and it does not scare him. It does not disgust him the way it has many times before.

Nobody else could handle their fury. The Goddess was right. He loves Sylvain, he will never stop loving Sylvain, but Dimitri was tied to him instead, and in this moment—he understands. Felix sees everything.

The pressure on his soulmark decreases and Felix does let out a whimper at the relief of it. Dimitri’s hand ties them together around the small of his back. Their foreheads touch, sweaty bangs mixing in a picturesque coalition of night and day.

“Do you want me? Beloved—tell me to stop, give me any indication—and I will cease at once.”

Felix does want him. He does, and he cannot even begin to reach down within himself to ask how or when or why. He does, and he presses his body entirely in line with Dimitri’s, shuddering at the friction, pulling him backwards and sucking in a gasp that is far too admissive for his taste at the sound of Dimitri growling when he kicks the door shut behind them.

He grabs Dimitri’s jaw, letting it suspend for a moment, absorbing the arousal heavy in the air, reflected in the lidded gaze of the ocean that extends indefinitely through Dimitri’s eyes.

“You’re a goddamned wreck, Boar. Stay your course, or I’ll end your suffering, once and for all.”

Dimitri crashes into him, exactly as he did in their first attempt to fell Edelgard. Felix has nothing to defend himself with—nothing to parry the force of his lips away. It’s nothing like the gardens of Fhirdiad, or the soft, shy, brush of children expressing thankfulness for a full days excitement running through the foam of the Rhodos Coast—not a welcome or a goodbye, but a claim of _now_ , _today_ , and _again._ Tomorrow—the intent of forever. It’s blood and fire and a blinding, blissful light. 

Heaven and hell claw at each other to be the first to crawl out of Felix’s chest. Both attempt to scramble up the stairs of destiny, tripping—starving to finally settle into their proper place after they’ve been locked away for so long.

Their hearts pound away, furiously sending messages beyond the imprisonment of fabric and flesh.

_Mine. Mine. Mine._

Felix falls, his back breaking against the sheets that, in hindsight, hardly justify the actual smell of his soulmate bare and eager before him. He falls, and Dimitri is there to catch him. The image of Sylvain—his freckled nose sniffling at the dirt peeling away from his hair while he lifted him onto the back of his horse—makes Felix swallow another type of cry. He can still feel the rough armor somehow acting as a restorative balm where he wrapped his arms around Sylvain’s waist. He held on like his life actually depended on it as they slowly trod back to the Monastery with only the wind to suffocate their silence.

The feeling of Dimitri, stroking his stomach as he lifts his shirt, is just as real. Dimitri, who Felix was sworn to protect—who he’s failed to save from himself many times already. Dimitri grazes his navel with teeth that will eventually seal his fate permanently, and he could kill Felix, probably—but he won’t. He’ll do so much worse. He’ll ask him to stay. He’ll force him to live. 

Felix falls, his mind melding into the gloaming where the stage of creation is set. He falls, giving way to an endless hunger and lets dreams and nightmares alike drown in the decision to plunge headfirst into providence.

He awakens, and he succumbs, and he condemns.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am on [twitter](http://twitter.com/thefriedpipes)! Come talk more about fe3h with me 🤗


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mild CW for mention of injuries and some blood.

_“Mitya?”_

_The nickname from his beloved echoes across the waves—gentle, solemn and calm. Dimitri pulls his gaze away from the junction of their hands, where he was studying the stubborn, coarse sand that stuck regardless of how many times he washed them in the shallow foam. Felix’s hair is down, damp and crinkled by a full day spent rippling in the ocean air. It smells of brine, of the mossy pebbles they stacked by the waterfalls, of his own hands—for he could not resist brushing it back every moment he was provided the chance._

_Felix’s face is partially bathed in the vermillion glow of the sunset. The shadows of flames lick across his cheeks like a slow-moving affliction. The angle brings something fiendish to his eyes. Amber melts into rubies that appear as if they are bleeding. It’s bewitching, yet caustic. Vicious. He resembles Glenn more in this moment than Dimitri has ever seen before._

_It is unlike Felix to be so serious. Dimitri worries; the distress peaking in his soulmate has been building all day, yet he had not felt it appropriate to ask while they were enjoying their final hours together. Felix had been closed, where he was usually open, during the entirety of his stay in the capital celebrating the coming of his tenth year. He’d hoped a trip to the Rhodos Coast would relax them. All he wishes for is to see Felix happy. It is his duty as future King to ensure that his Queen never goes without a smile._

_“Yes, my stars? Is something the matter?”_

_“No, it’s just…”_

_Dimitri frowns, pressing the inside of his wrist tighter against Felix’s. Something in his blood tells him not to say anything—that very something that carries them from moment to moment—floating on an invisible, mellifluous current._

_Felix’s face is red, erupting into a flush that Dimitri thinks is so enchanting it outstrips the beauty of the surrounding scenery. He lowers his eyes, no longer reflecting the wilderness now that the sunset has mostly passed them over, and shuffles a little closer._

_“Did you want to kiss me…? or…or—never mind.”_

_Dimitri jolts with surprise. Felix’s head is so lowered by this point that he cannot see any additional context to the question. His soul mark burns with embarrassment—hesitance, edging toward hopeful. From here, Dimitri can hear his heart—or is it his own, pulsing so loudly it covers the magnanimity of his thoughts?_

_“Is this why you’ve been acting so odd? Felix, I—I would, of course, though I think it improper to do so…”_

_Felix nudges against his shoulders, still too tense for Dimitri’s liking. All of the little grains of sand that wove their way into the strands of his hair feel scratchy against his collarbone. “But you do want to?” He presses._

_“Of course, Felix—Beloved—I would want to keep you, just like this, by my side until we die.”_

_Felix’s eyebrows furrow. His detached expression shoots right through Dimitri, openly recalling something that is too private to mention. Whatever it is feels like a bruise over a broken bone and it’s something that Dimitri hopes neither of them will ever have to experience again._

_“Until we die…”_

_Felix raises his chin to the sky, darkness and chill settling in as the stars begin to emerge. Their final day together is over now and the evening of his imminent departure has arrived. It’s so clear here that he can almost see the edges of the constellations reaching for each other. Where one ends, another begins._

_The air is cleanest here, as far west from their homes as they could possibly travel without crossing the sea. The moon shines differently, larger, closer—with the intimacy of a mother, giving life and light where all would be dark and silent._

_“Yes.” Dimitri assures him—he tries. “Until we die.”_   
  


Dimitri cradles Felix’s jaw as he licks into his mouth. Felix tastes like campfire, like the smoke littering the air by the kitchens, most of all like the flames of the forge. He’s fire and steel ensconced—tempered, hardened—rising in the creation of a new weapon. Dimitri wants to let it slice him open from neck to groin, to bury it’s blade deep inside his guts until he has irreparably swallowed him. He wants to remember. He wants to forget. 

Dimitri can still smell—not like he used to—but most food he cannot taste. His instincts tell him what his other senses have lost the ability to ascertain. They are strongest here, now, because Felix is the one thing in the world that bypasses his dullness of tongue. He is the closest thing to a hearty meal, a full table, a hearth of warmth and wellness. Felix is the home he was born in, his arms the walls that held back frost and wind. 

Felix is his—isn’t he? 

He’s so hot beneath him, with their shirts removed; he’s glistening with sweat. Dimitri wants to take him; he feels that possessive urge grow within him as he growls into the kiss. 

Felix growls back, biting and drawing blood from his lip. It’s arousing, but strange. Felix is not acting like any Omega he’s known—though of course, he hasn’t asked any about how they reacted when they experienced their first heat. He’s exceptionally aggressive, wrestling him and attempting to achieve the dominant hand, leaving punishing marks wherever he can. 

Dimitri can feel him pressing back between the fabric of their pants, hard instead of wet. That shouldn’t be so. He shouldn’t ignore it.

“Felix…are you—how are you feeling?”

Felix’s eyes could murder him, he’s certain, as he pulls away to gasp and scratch at his neck. Dimitri has never felt so openly scorned and threatened by his soulmate before. Despite Felix’s dour moods and his cruel phrasing, he’s never looked like this nor acted this way. Domination and ownership should not be reflected in his intention, regardless of how sudden the presentation, but it is.

Dimitri doesn’t like it, and his instincts won’t allow him to go unchallenged.

“Stop. Do not make me restrain you.” He hisses, the pounding in his brain of _make him submit_ , and _claim,_ so similar to the thoughts which drown him daily that stifling his rage takes precedence over the pain.

Felix’s hackles rise at the threat. Any sensuality that was shared between them before has soured. Now, all he seems to want to seek is the thrill of conflict. 

“Fuck you!” Felix spits, and he would tear out his throat if Dimitri wasn’t holding him down with all of the Blaiddyd strength at his disposal. Even so, it’s alarming how much energy it was taking just to keep him still. Felix has never been weak, but nobody has been able to squirm this much in his grasp, no one had directly come close to matching the raw magnitude of his strength, no Omega should…

_No Omega…_

“Felix…you’re not..”

Felix’s nostrils flare, scenting the air with a putrid repulsion. Another smoky scent is becoming discernible to the both of them. It’s pleasant—subtle and warm— a downy blanket to wrap around your shoulders before you succumb to rest. At least, that is how it smells to Dimitri.

To Felix, it must be another scent entirely.

His body bucks upward in a desperate attempt to break free of Dimitri’s hold. Felix’s fingernails extend to dig so deeply into Dimitri’s wrist that he will need to check them over for injury later. The mark of Fraldarius burns white hot with an arousal not directed at him, a single-minded fervor that’s intense enough to snap Dimitri out of any lingering lust-laced confusion.

“Sylvain..!” Felix shouts, craning his face to snarl at the door. “Let me go Boar! Let me see him, he’s mine, he’s—”

Dimitri presses down harder, cutting Felix off with a cry of his own. This is a battle he’s unsure he’s fit for. He feels the edge of darkness encroaching, whispers of the dead in his ears. He needs to leave soon, this rage… soon it will consume the both of them. 

The subtle scent sharpens—it comes with a knock on the door. Felix thrashes his most violent yet, liberally cursing. 

The sounds of their contention is the only response Sylvain will get. Dimitri hopes it is enough. Sylvain cannot seriously think it wise to enter now. Heat or not, his presence is obviously feeding Felix’s frenzy because…

…Because Felix is an Alpha, and with the way Sylvain’s scent is causing his pheromones to flood, everyone on the second floor will soon be sure to know it.

“Felix? Dimitri? Are you okay in there?”

Dimitri tries to give an answer that will prevent Sylvain from what he’s about to do, but the turning of the knob and the click of the door comes too quickly; it cuts off all of the synapses in his brain. All he’s left with is a cold feeling in his blood to marry the throbbing in his forehead from his soulmate’s subsequent head-butt. Felix bangs and barrels into him, insatiable in pursuing the entrance of the red-haired Omega. 

“Sylvain you must leave! What are you thinking coming in here?!”

Dimitri cannot see him—he does not have enough confidence in Felix’s restraint to risk detaching his focus and turning around—but it doesn’t seem as if Sylvain has left the doorway. He sounds confused. 

“Is Felix hurt?” There’s a few hesitant steps before Sylvain sucks in a breath, likely upon seeing the marks they’ve left on one another. “Hey! Are you even helping him right now?!”

“Sylvain!! **_Hold your stance!_** ” 

An authoritative growl begins in Dimitri’s throat that he regrets as soon as he releases it. He hears Sylvain whimper behind him, and his heart sinks with it. Felix gnashes his teeth, even more enraged at the audacity of Dimitri using his pheromones to make the Omega submit. 

Dimitri shakes his head, trying to calm the breath that seems stuck in the bellows between his ribs. Panic is heavy in the air, and he cannot taste the scent of it, but he knows the texture—he flees from it daily. 

“Sylvain…I did not mean— ”

A sharp and sudden pain further flusters him. Felix’s teeth drag his bleeding arm into focus and Dimitri gasps, not at the sudden spike of aggression or the wound, but because the gleaming canines coated with his blood are unmistakable. 

Felix drools and spits the sanguine liquid as best he can from an overflowing and firmly latched mouth. Dimitri watches him—stunned. The glare he receives is so very like the eyes of his soulmate under the sunset from years before; a premonition he could not appraise. 

Bloodthirsty. He did not have a name for it then. It is the closest thing he has to his own name now.

Sylvain’s distress is worse than the wound that drips down his wrist to stain his soulmate’s skin. Dimitri earnestly wishes he could attend to both, but he cannot. He cannot even think of anything but to pray—yet now, holiness fails him. 

_Please_. He squints at the snarling disaster that wears the husk of his appointed love. _Goddess calm him. Make Sylvain retreat—let someone come…_

The door slams into the wall, shaking Dimitri from his meager prayer. Felix releases his arm in the abrupt disturbance, and Dimitri whips around, sending flecks of blood across the newly awakened Alpha’s face. 

His heart is wretched up into his throat at the sight that befalls him. 

Claude is inching toward them, a determined blaze burning through the forest of his eyes. There is nothing to suggest ill intention, but the appearance of another Alpha in the room was not entirely what Dimitri was hoping for. Felix becomes fully hostile underneath him again, snapping at Claude to leave what he perceives as his den, and to step away from the one he’s decided is his mate. 

Sylvain has his back tensed up against the wall opposite of the door that hangs, half-open and crooked. His arms tremble where they are firmly crossed under his chest, face wintry and frozen. In all of the years that Dimitri has known him, he’s never seen his friend so openly fearful. Dimitri understands that, partly, this is because of him—but he cannot face the penalty of it now.

“ _Claude.”_ He rasps, wearier than he meant to reveal. “Please take Sylvain.”

Claude stops his advancement and narrows his eyes, looking beyond his shoulders at Felix, still snarling threats. “Are you sure about that? It doesn’t look like you have things entirely under control here.” 

“I am positively certain! He will improve once Sylvain is removed—Claude, he is—”

“I know.” Claude scratches the back of his neck. A melancholic pang slips through the mask, but he continues as if it was never there. “I came as soon as I smelled it.”

He still hasn’t moved to proceed with the request. The scratching continues. Dimitri has learned how to read several of his habits by now, and this one, he remembers, is indicative of ambivalence. The leader of the deer is always calculating something, but they cannot afford to move slowly here.

“Trust in me.” Dimitri pleads, wincing as Felix mouths at the air, furious that there is nothing for him to bite within his reach. “Return with someone if you must, but take Sylvain with you first.”

For a moment everything around him freezes. The background blurs into incomprehensible colors and sounds dampen as Claude locks into his gaze. Dimitri’s chest tightens for a reason that is so far removed from the predicament it plunges him into dizziness. It is only when Claude nods and breaks his vision, coaxing Sylvain out of the room and away from the second floor, that the vertigo fades. He is left alone to attend to the task he insisted he was capable of handling.

He’s confident now that he can. This Felix is merely a mirror of his own beast. The rage of his rut seems to be a shared predicament, yet this cannot possibly outstrip what he manages during his own. Dimitri does not blame Felix for his reaction. No more than he blames the dead for their fate. 

Without considering the cost, Dimitri shifts his body until he is covering Felix entirely. The smaller Alpha flounders, crying out after Sylvain and delivering blows that will undoubtedly leave them both with bruises. Dimitri laces their hands together, pressing the crest of Fraldarius to Blaiddyd as forcibly as he can, thinking once again of the grains of sand that fell from the webbings of their fingers to make room for one another—counting memories and keeping time.

Felix’s breathing stabilizes. His pupils shrink, and the flush of his face no longer threatens to burn Dimitri from inches away. He’s still beneath him—shame a sizzling poison eroding the golden insignia of their uniforms.

“Felix…” Dimitri begins, curling his hand toward the crown of his head. His hair had come completely undone in the struggle and now it pools like a murky pond around the left side of his nape. Dimitri had not seen it down since the night he clung to Felix in the halls of Fhirdiad’s castle and begged for forgiveness. He begged the wrong Fraldarius then. He would not do so again.

“Don’t…just...stop.” Felix huffs, flinching at his touch like it is a hot iron rod. He shakes, tears forming but not falling, and grabs onto Dimitri’s shoulders, burying his face into his neck. He’s _hiding_ , and that in itself is enough to make Dimitri shatter, but then, he chokes over an apology that pulls them into a dimension displaying more than any mirror could.

“Thank you…for stopping me. For protecting Sylvain.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Felix is having a bad time. One’s body under stress can really throw their cycle off! In this case, it brought about a slightly premature rut, which was already affected by attending to Sylvain’s heat. The rut is further complicated by his connection to Dimitri, who spends the majority of his own ruts essentially losing his mind— consumed by the rage. 
> 
> Thank you as always for your kudos, your comments, and your continued interest in this fic! ❤️ I estimate 3 or 4 more chapters before we reach the end of part 1. Right now I am participating in the Sylvix Big Bang, so updates may be slower, but I will get us there!


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *rubs my greedy little insect hands together* Ahhhh politics and Sadvain and Claude.

Felix is gone for six days. For six days, in reality, but in his spirit it seems to Sylvain that Felix is gone within the few strides that carried his body far from the room that bore the pull of his heart—and he continues to be just as absent from that point on. Six days that left Sylvain more battered than the many fractures of his ribs that were Felix’s secret gift to him, wrapped with all of his care and concern. Six days that Sylvain spent smiling behind swallows of the ice that refused to thaw by the bob of his throat. 

Felix wanted him. He’d said so, forcefully, spit his intention to _claim him_ right into Dimitri’s face. Dimitri’s responding anger had flattened Sylvain against the wall—instincts that originated on different sides of the chasm warred within him—and in the end, it was Claude who led him away from the divide. Claude’s warm hand wrapped around his clammy forearm wasn’t enough to bring him back from where the stars had gathered in the corners of his eyes, but it still moved him, and Sylvain wished he’d had the foresight not to blink before he lost the last honest declaration he’d see from Felix for quite some time. 

Sylvain prays to the Goddess—truly prays—for the first time in years, and, like most of the decisions he makes, he doesn’t do it for himself. He does it for Felix. He prays that all of this is a mistake. He prays that somehow the Goddess would see fit to rewind time, to rewrite their biology, to somehow reverse, reassign—dare he even hope, _eliminate_ —their roles. 

Felix is gone. Likely, to the same place as Dimitri went during his own rut. Sylvain passes his empty bedroom every night with his fist clenched and pressed firmly into his chest, trying not to choke on his heart. His tears aren’t as easy to restrain. 

He knows he’s the source of it. His heat, the fact that he is forever an Omega, his impossible crush on his childhood friend that reflects in a different light after the events of these past few months. His stupid stubbornness that landed the four of them here, tangling them up in his lies and his insatiable need for attention and acceptance. 

Dimitri realizes it—some of it—Sylvain supposes, because he sequesters himself and refuses to look at Sylvain when he visits daily with Byleth’s assignments and the food he’s almost certain His Highness tosses in the nearest bin. He’s always been naive, but no one—especially one with a soulmark—could be that dense. Dimitri’s wrist is covered in gauze and he regards Sylvain cooly when his eyes flick to it, replacing the burn of ice and steel in Felix’s stead. 

Of the three, Sylvain is the only one in the following week to walk in the light of day, yet he is no better off. Felix has left his mark on him, even without his claim, and now his body has awakened to the primal urge that tells him to go seek his Alpha. Regardless of the sobering reality, regardless of the suppressants that _should_ be working, Sylvain _burns._

Now that Felix has presented, and his desire is clear, Sylvain is unable to completely cull the call of his own. He hates it. But he submits, at night when no one can hear him whispering for Felix while Dimitri is sobbing his name—among many others—wailing despondent through the walls. 

Felix is gone for six days, and when he returns, not a single drop of courage is left to prepare Sylvain for what happens next.

* * *

The Red Wolf Moon has long been marked as a pivotal point of survival in the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus. Winds from the north turn all the more ruthless, biting bone from skin and leaving purpled mementos wherever one did not take great care to cover up. Crops that survived the soil were killed by the frost if they weren’t tended to throughout the night. Farmers and Sentrymen were expected to give reports of any animals they saw sneaking south under the safety of the stars, the most telling of which was the Lycan. The early migration of the wolves came to be known as a sign of an especially poor winter. 

To make a game of the potential crisis, house Gautier created a hunting competition between the current Margrave and the son who was intended to inherit. Sylvain had lost thrice since Miklan was renounced, even with his father somewhat hindered by his age. Try as he might, he just couldn’t get the hang of a bow, and an axe didn’t fare well in the situation. Famished or not, wolves were too fast to approach head on and difficult to force away from their pack in times of distress. 

This year, there would be nobody but his father there to track them down. Sylvain wondered if he would even bother. There’s no significance, in his opinion, to celebrating a tradition alone. He knows a thing or two about it, by now. 

“A hunting game? Reminds me of my own home.” 

Claude’s eyes conceal his true smile, and it saddens Sylvain to see that they twinkle with genuine tranquility so sparingly. Sylvain finds it easier to project security with his own eyes than to temper his mouth. Separately, both of their strategies are a facade. Together, they make for an honest face. 

“In Leicester? I haven’t heard much about hunting traditions there. What’s it like?” 

Sylvain’s inquisitive response comes as a second nature. He’s hardly listening, though he _is_ curious, because Claude just took his second to last pawn and he’s really going to have to concentrate to keep the final piece alive long enough to strategize. 

Claude waves a half-hearted hand over the board, leaning in to watch Sylvain’s next move. “That’s not really important right now. I’d suggest keeping your focus here, unless you’d like me to steal your queen while you’re preoccupied with how dear old dad’s doing without you.”

Sylvain’s reaction is found somewhere in the aggressive slide of his pawn, just out of reach and not quite cornered—yet. Claude was pretty good at Chess, as it turns out. It wasn’t as surprising to Sylvain as it had been with Hubert. At least he won a decent amount of games when facing off against the morbid retainer. 

Claude was trickier. He didn’t respond in any of the ways you’d expect him to. There was something to his instincts that Sylvain couldn’t put his finger on. 

“Come on, why not?” He presses, withholding a wince when Claude moves to another advantageous position. “I’ve told you about Faerghus. I’ve even told you what I know about Sreng.”

Claude seems amused by his frustration. “Sorry, but information like that doesn’t come cheap. If you win this match, I might be open to sharing more.” 

Sylvain groans and moves his pawn yet again, now directly in the line to be taken, but if he’s right about his assumption, Claude will advance without collecting it. There were still plenty of pieces that could follow behind for protection. 

Claude folds his arms, smirking at the scheme unfolding. The swing of his braid, when paired with the rich, earthy scent uniquely his own, is starting to make Sylvain drowsy and complacent. The Omega’s eyelids flutter to chase away the inclination. 

“Don’t go getting one of those distant looks on your face.” Claude snaps his fingers at Sylvain, thankfully not mentioning the drool at the corner of his lips. 

It’s too late to recover completely. Sylvain places his knight without much of a pause between actions. This is the way Claude forced him to play, going off of the first impulse he had, because otherwise he would drive himself mad in the hours it took them to complete a single game. Claude had dozens of unconventional methods, and the best way to manage them, he’d discovered, was to counter with your own. Sylvain was still working on that. Acting without thinking wasn’t an unfamiliar concept to him, but here his body couldn’t serve as a shield or a bargaining chip. Here, the loss of those he commanded was a punishment he couldn’t step in to receive. Tactically speaking, when it came to sacrifice, he had much to learn. 

“You’re overthinking it.” Claude’s voice isn’t enough to drag Sylvain’s face away from where it’s scanning the potential combinations, foretelling the capture of his queen. 

“Usually, I hear the opposite.” Sylvain cracks—in more ways than one—though it isn’t the first time, and even then Claude knew not to pursue it. He takes a defensive stance, more from caution than necessity, though he teeters closer to peril by the decision. 

“ _Hm.”_ Claude considers him a moment longer than what’s necessary for deception. Sylvain accepts it, leveling his breath, hoping to pass the nerves shooting beyond his control as the anticipation of his failure. Though he had so far kept Sylvain’s identity as an Omega a secret, Claude himself was an enigma clever enough to see things Sylvain would rather remain shrouded. There were other truths he suspected Claude already knew that could spell further disaster for him. He’d allowed the leader of the deer to get too close to them, but it wasn’t as if he’d had any other choice. 

Claude’s exposed wrist catches Sylvain’s attention when he turns it to push his King forward. Sylvain is unfamiliar with the specific spices The Alpha’s scent carries, but they made him feel warm and full and protected. It had a rather potent effect, when combined with his suppressants. Their intermingled pheromones quickly sparked as a topic of interest in all three of the classes. The rumors of Sylvain Jose Gautier, The Philanderer, had become nastier in an unforeseen way that infuriated the Omega.

Now it was Claude who was branded the “Beta chaser” and though the Alpha shook his head at the accusation, Sylvain could recognize a look of resignation that came from being accustomed to harassment instead of true ambivalence. Sylvain would rather not bring up what he heard whispered in the halls, but he hated how the repercussions of who he was could extend this far. Claude already had his own issues regarding his identity without needing to disprove another. Even with the Crest of Reigan to confirm it, his legitimacy to inherit was constantly held in question.

Sylvain’s eyes are drawn to where the King has advanced, one determination away from the range of his final pawn at the side of the board. It’s a strange position to assume, or would be, if it were not for the battalion of Claude’s other pieces ready to immobilize him nearby. 

“It’s your call.” Claude clucks, sounding strained even in the advantage. 

Sylvain grits his teeth. _Is it?_

* * *

Linhardt’s birthday passes, and Sylvain only knows about it because he spies the Professor quirking an eyebrow at him over a cup of tea in the courtyard. He’s never far from her nowadays it seems, since she charmed him over from the Black Eagles, and Sylvain has no place to be jealous but he _is._ He’s a lot of things that he’d thought he’d buried successfully lately. A lot of things he’d gotten so good at covering he’d almost forgotten they were there. 

Dimitri and Felix weren’t the only one with nightmares. 

There’s no one to comfort him, but there’s no one he’d ask. Felix needed to come to him, and he needed to continue to be able to do that for Felix. Dimitri had Claude now—a secret that Sylvain was actually uncomfortable thinking about—and Sylvain had already asked too much of him; he’d invested too much trust. 

He had more important questions to focus on. Questions he would soon have answers to. He’d won. He’d actually beaten Claude. Surprised the hell out of both of them but he’d finally succeeded in cornering him at his own game. All it took was not thinking at all—and who would have thought such a power would actually be put to good use some day? 

So, Claude had agreed to meet him here, in the gardens, for some tea. Sylvain was skeptical. It wasn’t the privacy he’s expected and he assumed Claude picked it purposefully, to prevent certain topics from arising. He didn’t want to refuse though, not when the leader of the Golden Deer was cooperating with his request. 

Claude was a little late. Sylvain tries not to let it get to him. He watches Linhardt’s sleepy smile and the occasional nod of his head. The Professor doesn’t say much, but she makes what words she does use count. He wondered what magic phrase convinced Linhardt to switch houses. He wasn't the only one eager to follow her strange charm…

The tambour of two familiar voices approaching captures his attention. Sylvain shifts, ready to meet them, but His Highness’ fresh lemon scent is coming off soured, so he halts just at the edge of their vision instead.

Claude’s hand is on Dimitri’s shoulder in such a causal manner that it is intimate. Far from wanting to remove it, Dimitri seems grateful that it is there and Sylvain is surprised that they seem so absorbed in each other that they don’t notice he’s intruded on their conversation. 

“You’re the one who’ll become King, right? It’s up to you to decide what you can change.” Claude sounds confident as he leans closer to reassure Dimitri with his smile. It’s genuine. Sylvain has seen enough fake ones—he’s given enough of them—to tell the difference. 

Dimitri’s face falls to the side, threatening to rest on Claude’s knuckles. He looks forlorn. There weren’t many other faces he wore lately. Sylvain’s chest tightens. 

“If only that were true. I fear there is little good I can do anymore.” Dimitri’s pensive gaze falls to his swollen wrist, still wrapped in gauze. “For all of us.”

For all of them. Dimitri feels the same as he does. They’re all fighting for each other, by fighting each other, fecklessly scrambling in the dark when they could be locking arms to walk together. 

Sylvain can’t blame Dimitri. He himself is terrified to brush his fingers across another’s. It’s what they all learned growing up, but him especially, because of his father, because of Miklan—never trust another’s hand to bring anything but suffering. 

Dimitri locks eyes with Claude and _Goddess_ , he shouldn’t be here to see this. Sylvain hopes he’s never looked at Felix in such a way because it was so damn _obvious_ it was kind of starting to piss him off. He’d expected to be sitting with Claude by now, deep into his third or fourth question. Instead, they were here, and Dimitri—who’d been ignoring his repetitive offers to help —apparently didn’t have a problem with Claude advising him how to lead his own country. 

Sylvain clears his throat, and puts a great amount of effort into forcing open his eyes so they won’t narrow and betray his true feelings about the interaction. Claude removes his hand—not so hastily that it would come off as mischievous—and smiles at Sylvain. This time, the warmth is fabricated, but he doesn’t care. He’s on a mission today. 

“Hate to interrupt what looks like a great time, but I was promised tea with the ever so diplomatic von Reigan.” Sylvain bows, keeping the humor in his face slight and upturned. “Care if I steal Claude from you for a few minutes, Highness?” 

Dimitri coughs in return, and he does sound sufficiently dry, so Sylvain lets him get away with it without comment. 

“Of course not. Please, go ahead Sylvain.”

His cape rustles about his shoulders as he tenses, giving a short farewell. Dimitri is still avoiding Sylvain, but he can’t completely abandon his manners. It would be amusing at any other time, but now it just makes the stone in Sylvain’s stomach sink lower.

It’s a good thing he brought his own tea. Claude pulls out some Chamomile and it’s interesting how it’s the same blend Dimitri favors, but Sylvain doesn’t want to dwell on any of that right now. He cradles his own Bergamot; the heat passing through the china burns the pads of his fingers, but he doesn’t know what else to do with his hands while he tries to think of the perfect way to ask everything he thought he could get away with. Claude’s cup is untouched. He watches something beyond the surface of Sylvain’s skin that makes him bristle. 

“You mentioned it the other day…” Sylvain begins, already wanting to look away from the detailed scrutiny. “I thought it was a joke at first, but then I thought about it some more and now I really want to know.” His eyes flicker to the table farthest from their left, where the Professor has just pushed her chair in to lean over and collect the two empty cups. “About Linhardt.” 

“What about Linhardt?” Claude asks. He’s more than aware enough to recall, but Sylvain presses forward in the game anyway, eager to get on with it.

“About Linhardt and Caspar. And Bernadetta.” 

Two afternoons earlier Sylvain came across them. Linhardt’s head was in Caspar’s lap, green ponytail falling like silk through his fingers. Bernadetta, the recluse, was seated right beside him, her tiny delicate hand trembling, yet placed directly on top of the surprisingly calm blue-haired brawler’s scarred knuckles. Three nobles. Two Omegas and a Beta. He’d never seen anything like it. The possibility wouldn’t even be considered as a passing thought in Faerghus. 

“Apparently, they’ve been friends for a long time. As to what they’ll become—only time will tell.” Claude shrugs like it’s that simple. Sylvain frowns. It’s not that easy. It can’t be that easy—can it?

“I thought he had the hots for the Professor, honestly.” Sylvain scratches his head, looking for her, but the two tea-mates had vanished. 

Claude laughs, finally taking a sip of his tea. “No way! He’s obsessed with her crest—sure—but as a romantic interest? Dorothea would never let him get away with it.” 

Sylvain nearly chokes on his own sip. “ _Dorothea?!_ ” He sputters, disbelievingly. A few passing priests cast a curious look in his direction. He settles, blowing on his cup sheepishly, giving them a small wave. 

“Yeah?” Claude’s frowns are more playful than his smiles. “You Faerghus folk sure don’t notice much outside of your little frozen box. They’ve been warming up to each other for months now. She was one of the first to switch classes. Don’t you remember?”

“How could I forget? A beautiful face, with a body like that...” Sylvain’s lecherous compliment fools neither of them. It’s mostly aimed at his teacup anyway, which has started to leave a ring on the wood. “But even if Dorothea is with the Professor—which, _hot_ , by the way—I’m having a hard time wrapping my mind around…the three of them.” 

Claude takes a moment to formulate his answer. 

“It’s really not that uncommon, even in noble houses, for the Adrestian Empire. Polyamory is seen as an asset that provides financial security, as well as increasing the chance of producing many heirs. There’s a lot of people who end up related to each other through marriage, and they tend to have more of a merging of affairs approach. It’s an interesting system and I don’t know the finer details of it, but I wouldn’t be surprised if their parents didn’t already have some deal lurking in the shadows.” 

Sylvain blinks, thinking about the scene again. They’d seemed so peaceful. So at ease with one another despite being in public. He hadn’t felt that way with another person in a long time. Felix and Dimitri used to act similarly with him when they were young, but they were long past reclaiming that level of intimacy. 

“It’s different,” Claude continues “everywhere. Every country has their own traditions. I’m sure you’ve learned a little about how they handle dynamics and marriages in the Alliance?” 

Sylvain nods. “They aren’t as strict about Alphas and Omegas matching. They don’t arrange any kind of relationships from birth either.” He remembers something else. “You don’t have to have a crest or be an Alpha to inherit.” 

Claude’s eyes kindle. “That’s right.” There’s a note of pride in his voice. “And we’re not the only place in the world that handles it that way.”

“Sure, of course.” Sylvain agrees instantly. It should be obvious but he’d genuinely never been able to seek these scenarios out. He knows about Sreng’s stance—knew the place inside and out before he’d even set foot near the border—but their customs weren’t too different from Gautier’s. He hadn’t meant to shove the curiosity away, but it was hard not to when you were “heavily discouraged” from asking about it, and even harder when the information just wasn’t around. 

“In Albinea, the Omega chooses the Alpha” Claude’s excitement is palpable and almost buries his words. Sylvain abandons his cup to follow in fascination. “In Winter, they weave crowns of holly and present it to their mate of choice. There’s a looser sense of class systems and all citizens are free to marry who they want—provided that the feeling is mutual, of course.” 

Sylvain hums in surprise. All he knew of Albinea was that it was colder than Gautier and their berries were tart. He loved them. Here was another good reason to put it on the list of countries to consider running to. The idea that it was the Omega who had the choice to court… there must be other practices allowed there he would enjoy as well.

“In Brígid, the one intended to inherit the throne is Petra.” Sylvain nods, thinking of the absolute powerhouse the Brigid Princess would become once she secured that authority. “Neither gender influences that decision. What’s most important is bloodline. Polyamory is also a key element to their culture. They are a small, but incredibly close, community.” 

“I know about Duscur.” Sylvain interrupts before Claude can move on again, wishing he could contribute more to the conversation. “Dedue told me they’re mostly Betas, so an Alpha or an Omega is considered a rare treasure there.”

“I’ll have to ask him more about it later.” Claude’s pointer finger finds the hollow of his cheek, poking it absentmindedly. “Shamir too. I don’t know much about Dagda, and she’s a Beta, but I’m sure she has some good insight on the customs.” 

“What about Almyra?” 

The question echoes, for no reason other than that everything has become deathly still. Sylvain hasn’t felt a chill like this since he last visited Fraldarius’ cemetery to place a bouquet of flowers on Glenn’s empty tomb. 

“Almyra..” Claude is wistful, and it’s strange, but Sylvain leans forward over his now cooled and half-drunk Bergamot, fully engaged. “In Almyra…as long as you can fight, you’ll be respected. That’s how most decisions are made.” Sylvain studies the way Claude’s mouth twitches with an irritation he didn’t carry while discussing other countries. 

“All relationships are treated equally. Not just in dynamics, but _all_ elements. Marriage can be between friends for convenience, or love, and it’s all the same to those looking from outside the window. Children are raised indiscriminately. They’re exposed to the normalization of any dynamic you could imagine, so they don’t have the same issue with being as affected as we are in Fodlan with the pheromones of a heat or a rut.” 

All of that sounds… too good to be true to Sylvain. He wants to ask how Claude knows all this. He wants to ask many other things—countless questions that wriggle like worms underneath his skin. He wants to, but he doesn’t get the chance to, because Claude mentions something that he’s unlikely to ever stop thinking about in the coming years. 

“The current King of Almyra…” Claude trails off, looking somber and like he really didn’t want to say it at all. “Is an Omega.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am on [twitter](http://twitter.com/thefriedpipes)! Come talk more about fe3h with me 🤗


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wow, it’s been exactly five months since I updated. A lot has happened since May, but I promise I will never abandon this fic. Thanks for holding out for so long! 
> 
> I know I’ve been heavy on the Dimilix angst lately. Here is where Felix begins to distance himself from both men. Sylvain won’t let him retreat permanently, though. 😉

Garreg Mach Monastery is a multifaceted providence. 

A sanctuary for some, and the centerpiece of Fodlan, much of the populace consider the central church sovereign ruler of their home. From the students, whose stay is temporary, to the permanent residence of clergymen/women, the Knights of Serios, and a single Almyran boy, rescued in his youth yet ultimately not spared from violence, publicly the citizens agree upon its status as a beacon of hope. 

For the unlucky few who do not, it is a source of fear, an extremist monarch that nevertheless rules them with a bloodied hand, raking their resources. The Archbishop manages her jurisdiction much like one would manage the sun, skirting around the axis of the world it nourishes, warming what it touches as long as it comes across the proper path, leaving one side dark and cold and dependent on its return—at all times. 

As to be expected from an infrastructure a thousand years standing, there are secrets. 

Some are arguably mild: books mysteriously vanishing from the library, frowned upon activities that result in double cleaning duties, and the hushed expulsion of those who invited shame to the Monastery’s reputation, brushed away to the underground. 

Others continue to sting long beyond the aftershock of their cruelty: sending children to kill on the basis of a suspicious letter, an exiled noble who transforms into a monster with his heirloom in hand, and rumors of a reaper slaughtering innocents from atop his obsidian mount. 

Perhaps the most cleverly hidden secret is the winding passageway that serves as an entrance to the dubious society of Abyss.

There is a fourth house here, a loosely bound band of misfits. Their connection to the outer world is purposefully scarce. They are, as far as the Church is concerned, an eyesore. Both parties have come to an agreement: as long as they would not interfere with the systems set in place, Abyss is allowed to continue their sordid existence—retain their independence, their squalor, and their freedom. Even so, there are times when the Abyssians are reminded of their true position—just another asset to be utilized. 

For six consecutive mornings now, as if summoned by the first ray of daylight, Yuri Leclerc awakens to a sharp, distinct screeching.

Felix certainly knows how to announce his presence.

Abyss is a dismal place for anyone accustomed to noble privileges to be enclosed. There is, in Yuri’s opinion, an unnecessary amount of jail cells and eerie abandoned rooms, dilapidated walls and leaky sewage blocking off the otherwise endless tunnels. You get used to it in the same way you get used to an anvil crushing your foot. 

The ominous sounds continue as Yuri dungeon crawls. Felix howls and drags blood crusted fingernails down scratches in the wall from previous nights and innumerable inhabitants. It’s Yuri's job to answer him. He doesn’t mind it too much. Jobs where he’s expected to keep someone alive are usually more immersive than jobs where he’s required to dispose of a body—and far more settling to his stomach. The horrible noise that roused him ceases as soon as he approaches the solid sealed door. He draws the crest of Aubin as a sigil in midair, then turns it as if it were a key. 

* * *

Felix has slept in confinement before, but not like this. Never like this. 

It’s not a cell. He’s not chained or bound. There’s a powerful looking mage stationed outside that he only glimpses when the purple-haired Beta visits twice a day to give him food and water. He doesn’t bother Felix for anything beyond checking for wounds or a fever. Felix spends his saner moments reviewing simple swordplay and brawling techniques in the (foul smelling) bed. The entire place stinks actually. Everything smells... _wrong_. 

_I can’t smell Sylvain, I can’t feel him, Dimitri was here before, where is he..?_ All a part of the cacophony that beats the steady drum in his head.

He understands now. He understands why Dimitri was so cryptic after his ruts, so woeful and withdrawn. It wasn’t because he didn’t want to explain. He couldn’t. There are no words for this—this chaotic energy and aggression—only endurance, and even now in the thick of it, Felix knows Dimitri’s ruts are many times worse than his own. 

Felix runs his thumb over a bump on his forehead. It’s still bruised and bloody from an earlier episode where he rammed it into furniture and the mossy stone walls. His nails scratch the burn of old scars and chip the dried blood from forming ones. He isn’t even certain which came with him. They tried to give him gloves to prevent him from harming himself, but it didn't work. At night, when his rage becomes impossible to control, he shreds them to tatters with his tapered teeth. 

The Beta heals them until they all look the same. Whoever they are, their faith magic is reliable. It’s better than his own. It’s probably better healing than most nobles from Faerghus are capable of—apart from his old man. 

It can’t erase the itch. He is a prisoner in his own skin. 

He hasn’t tried to block Dimitri, but he hasn’t reached for a connection either. Far as he can feel, Dimitri is miserable, and he’s horny, and Felix is very openly ignoring those facts right now. It pisses him off. No matter how many times (or ways) he gives into his rut, his mood is worse after the minor relief. It’s the worst feeling he’s ever come across—to be going through this alone. How had Sylvain survived his first heat with not a single person to care for him? 

Sylvain is...safe. For the time being. 

But Sylvain isn’t with him. Sylvain isn’t his.

And now, Dimitri definitely knows. They all know. 

Or will, before he is gone. 

Beta Boy, his personally assigned warden, yawns as they enter. Felix thinks they’re strange and a little rude in a shrewd, sneaky way that doesn’t fool him for a second. He’s put up with the antics of one particularly pretty, charming trickster all his life and right now he absolutely does not want to continue the trend. 

“I’m not taking whatever poison that is.”

Felix growls as he peers at the small vial clutched in his caretaker’s fist. The contents match their annoying shade of hair. Felix is already cautious by nature, but with everything that’s happened, he’s become even more suspicious. 

“It’s not poison, it’s a precaution.” They respond coolly, feeling Felix’s forehead and checking his body for fresh injuries as per their routine. 

“Temperature’s normal, only a few scrapes and bruises for me to heal, and your hormones are leveling out. Can you feel it?”

He doesn’t want to rip Beta Boy’s head off any more than what’s usual, and the skin on skin contact doesn’t make him want to vomit or pin them on the ground. Felix considers that to be a promising sign. Mostly, he wants to sleep in his own bed. He’d like to smell of anything but this dank, depressing shithole.

Of course, it will be different now. He won’t be able to ignore everything. He has to confront the new experiences as they come—and accept the consequences of what led him here. 

It wasn’t as if they were being unnecessarily cruel. Felix had asked for this.

_Just as Dimitri did._

“Who are you?” He counters instead of answering. Now is _not_ the time to talk about _feelings._ If they’re smart enough, and Felix does think that they are, Beta Boy’s already prepared to let him go today. Good. Felix can’t stand the thought of another night here, shivering and sweating. He needs a proper bath and a damn chastity belt. 

“The name’s Yuri.” They smile, but there’s no warmth in it at all. It reminds Felix of Claude. Claude reminds him of Dimitri. Dimitri reminds him of Sylvain. Sylvain reminds him of his own misery. 

The comparisons are inseparable. Felix is struck with the weight of all the pain he caused and what hardships he cannot avoid attracting. He quickly averts his eyes. 

“Not that you’ll remember it.” Yuri continues. “What you called poison earlier is a binding spell. If you try to talk about your stay here in our most luxurious Abyss, it’ll make you forget everything.” 

“Is this your idea of hospitality?” Felix snaps, rubbing his now level forehead with the back of his hand. He pulls on pants for the first time in what he assumes by his calendar of fingernail scrapings is just shy of a week. The uniform Yuri brought him seems all wrong now. It’s unscented, and a bit tight. 

“Just following orders.” Yuri chirps as they hold out the mysterious liquid. Felix takes it and drinks it despite his concerns, feeling enough of the cooldown to be compliant if it meant he’d see the sky again. 

“The Archbishops orders?” He asks as soon as he’s swallowed. It tastes disgusting, and he nearly spits out the follow up gulp with another question. “ _What the hell did you put in this?”_ or “ _Are you trying to make me kill you?”_ Both are good. He can’t decide.

“Everybody has somebody they answer to.” Yuri responds ambiguously, turning their face away. Felix decides right then and there that it isn’t a rut that makes him want to point a sword at pretty boy’s gut and see how well they can defend themself without their words. 

Okay, maybe there’s some residual aggression to work through, but he’ll be fine once he’s actually out of here. He doesn’t need a potion to ensure he’ll keep this to himself on his own. 

“Not me.” Felix replies as haughtily as he can. Yuri chuckles, and a genuine amusement like warmed cocoa butter wafts from where they wait expectantly at the now open door to Felix’s cage. 

_Not yet at least._

* * *

Felix doesn’t expect to run into Claude first. Unpredictably, a blindfold is fixed tightly over his eyes, crossed underneath his tangled bun. A senseless protocol. It’s too dark to try anything without getting lost in the maze to die in a ring of rats. 

By the time he’s rubbing the harsh light from his sockets, Yuri is gone. Felix has been abandoned close to the training grounds, which is fortunate and in line with his normal daily activities. The creak of his knees is swallowed by the creak of the huge golden-gilded doors as he pushes them inward. He’s exhausted, muscles aching, but he’s also furious and empty—lost. He needs to feel the burn of inflamed calluses between his thumb and index finger to find himself again. 

An arrow whizzes past his ear, cutting through a few erratic hairs. 

“You’re back.” Claude announces unnecessarily. 

He’s changed somehow. Claude appears menacing, looming shadow stretching across the stained cement in the high noon, only a few inches taller, but leagues above Felix in experience. 

Perhaps not. Realistically, it’s Felix who’s changed the most. He sees the world differently now. Accurately now. 

Unhappily now. 

Not that he was happy to begin with, but the dreaming of a boy and a man are as far apart as the heavens and the depths of the sea. 

Walking away from the horizon seems to be the only safe route that remains. 

“Keep Sylvain away from me.” 

Finding himself will have to wait. With the taste of bile and elixir bubbling in his throat, Felix leaves. 

* * *

Dimitri is waiting for him in his room. That much is predictable. 

The door is unlocked. Everything is as he left it. Everything except for the bed. The sheets have been washed. The smell of blood and sweat and two Alphas wrestling for dominance is gone. It is only him and Dimitri now, in the flesh. 

No words are exchanged. Felix is grateful—as grateful as one can be squashed into a trench of contrition. 

Dimitri draws back the curtain of his greasy bangs. _See?_ His pensive eyes seem to say.

Felix does.

He understands. 

Clearly.

* * *

Seteth sees to it that the bathhouse is emptied for Felix’s comfort. Dimitri accompanies him. He doesn’t want to be alone. 

They enter side by side and proceed to undress, steam clinging to the creases in their uniforms. Felix turns his back to Dimitri as he reaches into the bucket with a rag to wipe away the lines of grime that gathered in the folds of his skin. Several scars, small and large, adorn him now like a circlet of stars. Felix isn’t embarrassed; he sees them as markers of progress. 

Dimitri, however hard he tries to change his perception, sees them as missteps. 

His body is marred with long, warped gouges and patches of shiny, scorched flesh that healed in uneven layers. The worst of them extend from the tip of his shoulders across his spine and all the spaces between, down the remainder of his back. It’s as if he were forced to fight off a pack of wolves in nothing but his small clothes. Felix has seen it before. Never this close. He never needs to see it again.

“Dedue.” Dimitri says simply. 

They leave it at that. 

Felix dips down under the water, face smooth as the surface before he parted it, hair a grotesque swirl of dark, knotted seaweed tickling his nose and lips. He could remain here, it feels, a millenia, and nothing would matter. The world would go on without him, and he would go on without the world.

It’s impossible. He is too important, and yet, still so unimportant that every desire he gains the courage to approach is scorned and sent away. 

A bride is one thing. A mate another. 

Love, completely out of his reach. 

The illusion of latency breaks, and he breathes, a tiny gasp like the last his mother gave before her eyes went black. 

He’s told he went kicking and screaming, pulling the gold and sapphire bangle off her wrist. Felix doesn’t remember that. He only remembers _why_ he refused to let go.

Rodrigue wasn’t with him. Neither was Glenn. 

Dimitri is polite and waits a few minutes to allow Felix his reverie before he approaches. He hands over the same rag Felix left by the bucket and a bar of soap. It’s pale with flecks of sweet, mild spices and rose petals. Probably belongs to a higher class Omega, or Dorothea, or if he’s being honest, Lorenz. It was probably Lorenz. 

Felix finds he doesn’t like it at all. 

“Worse than where I came from.” His voice is dry and tired. He lathers anyway. Dimitri tries to help— _tries,_ being the essential word—by combing the tangles out, but he’s ill fit for such a delicate task, and the wooden spikes snap off into the dusky nest. Felix fumes, but allows him to pick them out without a single curse. 

Lifting out to reach toward Dimitri’s pile of clothes, he retrieves a small dagger neatly placed over the center of the insignia. 

The leather wrapped around its handle is old and peeling. Some darkness has settled in at the edge of the cords and the smell of smoke still clings to it. The once proud shine has dulled, along with its sharpness, but that’s fine. It’s not meant to be used for combat. 

It was Glenn’s. But before Glenn, it was Dimitri’s. 

Now, it will belong to Felix. He’ll be sure to take care of it. In fact, he has something to take care of right now.

Dimitri twists Felix’s hair up into the air to wring it out. He’s much better at this task. A few full squeezes and it’s dry enough to hold steady. Felix feels for his earlobes, waiting for the water to settle, swiping over the pulse of his neck. 

_A phantom memory. Sylvain’s fingers, coaxing the waves from Felix’s braid just before the wake of Glenn’s funeral. He brushes them out, while Felix stares through the ornate mirror, seated in the soft velvet ottoman of his mother’s old powder room. For the first time in his life, his hair is twisted into a bun held high by Sylvain’s palm. Sylvain pulls some black leather twine from under his sleeve with his teeth, and wraps it around the reformed shape until it is secure._

It hangs undone now, a few strays slipping through the gaps in Dimitri’s fingers, delayed for just a moment so Felix can pinch the prickling in his eyes, tipping back the bridge of his nose. 

The knife responds beautifully in his hand, cutting expertly with a bit of extra pressure. Everything it touches lightens, cleanses, relieves. Midnight strands of present meeting past pool around them, making it harder for Felix to use his reflection as a guide, but each tug pulls him closer to reality. 

Dimitri readies the soap again, massaging it into Felix’s freed scalp. 

It’s not an apology. It’s about humility. And respect. 

One day, it will be about forgiveness. But for today, this is all that they have. 

  
  



End file.
